From Now Until the Moment I Die
by CyberForte
Summary: Sometimes, it is moments frozen in time that capture the truth far more than any continuous narrative could manage to. But which moments are those that define a person, and which define a world? A series of vignettes seeking the essence of what is it to live as a Blood Knight of the Sin'dorei in a world worn by war and defined by its tragedies.
1. Honor of the Fallen

I. Honor of the Fallen

Author's Note: A series of vignettes written based on inspiration that has hit me at various points in various quests. Note that they are not written in chronological order, but anyone who has a rough familiarity with the game should be able to figure out where they fit in sequentially. Reviews would be very much appreciated.

Snow and ice had somehow managed to attach themselves to her black-and-red armor; at any other time, she might've cared to remove them. This day, though, they hardly seemed to matter, and she did not so much as feel the bitter wind that made her already-pale cheeks seem truly pallid, and her blonde hair whipped wildly in the bitter northern wind, occasionally catching upon the spiked mouthguard that she wore.

Out behind her, the fine, silken black cloak, trimmed in red like the rest of her armor, waved just as freely, and snow crunched beneath the boots of her armored warhorse loudly. Yet the great steed, plated in red and gold that complimented its mistress, seemed to be guiding itself back to the camp, for only one hand held its reins and that hand barely did so.

In her other gloved hand was carried a letter, cradled carefully out of the wind and snow. The latter still felt in a few scattered bursts now and then, but the wind was by far the more dangerous of the two aggressors, threatening to tear the already-damaged paper from the hand that held it with such firmness.

Upon reaching the perimeter of the orcish camp-she barely cared to recall its name, though it was surely _someone's_ Hammer-the woman did not so much as pause to acknowledge the guards there. But then, they had become familiar enough with the sight of the blood elf that there did not respond either other than to grunt and nod.

Some focus returned to her glowing green eyes when she reached the tauren stable master, and she dismounted swiftly, still clutching the letter carefully as she offered her charger's reins to him. The male accepted them with some courteous words, but she could only find it in herself to give a nod of acknowledgment, her stomach feeling hollow.

But now there was more purpose in her steps as she strode across the camp as she had nearly twenty times on the past several weeks. Upon her back, a massive black waraxe had been placed, the ease with which she carried it betraying the strength that her small, lithe form somehow managed to possess. To the orcs, she was an utter mystery.

Despite that it had been the archmage whose image awaited her within the overlord's hovel who had dispatched her upon her mission, she had little interest in him in this moment. Instead, her glowing eyes were upon the massive orcish overlord whose name she had not bothered to learn. He had been of little concern to her before this moment.

Now, however, she faced his daunting form without the slightest of hesitation. With the wind and snow gone, one could see that part of the pallidness of her grim visage came from the fact that it had been painted with ashes in accordance with the rites of Hallow's End. Most of the orcs had not bothered to acknowledge it, leaving herself and those of the Forsaken in the camp the only ones to have adorned their faces with ash.

There was no prelude, when she spoke-no, unlike the numberless peons of the camp, she felt no desire to accord him the respect of speaking first. Where would he and these fools have been if not for her tireless efforts upon their behalf? "I have a letter that needs to be delivered to Orgrimmar without delay."

Her voice could be soft and exquisite at times, or so she recalled as though it were a truth from another life. Now it was not. Now it was instead harsh and commanding, the tone of one who expected to be obeyed without hesitation as her green eyes flashed in challenge. She had known before she had arrived that a request would be wasting her time, with the paranoia that had built amongst the orcs of late.

"...a letter? You know the rules here, elf. All mail goes through me first. There are spies and traitors amongst us!" She could almost feel his angry gaze from beneath the massive iron helm that obscured his visage. His own voice was full of barely-restrained anger at her audacity.

"You insult me with that foolishness? It was I who delivered to you the tome which gave the names of a hundred traitors, and I who ended the life of the traitor who has made you so afraid." Her voice summoned contempt for the accusation easily.

"No one is above suspicion, you brazen little bitch!" The orc's roar as he stood drew quite a bit of attention from the camp. Beside them, the image of the masked blood elven archmage took a reflexive step back despite that he was not so much as there in person.

"Then what of you, orc? Are you above suspicion, when all you do is sit here upon your petty throne, pretending you were warchief when you're barely more than a peon yourself? You claim that you must read what we would mail, but what of those things that you yourself would send? Who is in a better position to destroy us with a betrayal?" There was a harsh little laugh; the blood knight seemed undaunted, despite that the two massive worgs upon either side of the overlord now looked at her with barely-restrained hunger.

"...you dare accuse me of treason?! My loyalty is beyond question!" Again, his roar nearly shook the foul orcish hovel in which they spoke, and his two pet worgs growled menacingly, each taking a step forward. Before they could attack, however, the overlord seemed to calm slightly. "...read me the letter now and I will not send you back to your precious quel'thalas a corpse. You are still of some use to the Horde."

There was no outward acknowledgment of his words, but after several excruciatingly long seconds, the blood knight lifted the paper that she held and began to speak, her voice devoid of any emotion, but lacking too the harshness of before as she read the letter.

"_Deino_

_Ta'zinni sorry for disappearing on ya. If you're reading this letter, then I be dead._

_I been forced to work for Malygos's armies under threat that the family would be killed if I didn't. Ta'zinni wasn't gonna let that happen!_

_Don't worry about me, just keep your kids safe. I have them fooled and I'm sabotaging them from the inside._

_I love you, sistah!_

_Ta'zinni"_

There was something undeniably unnerving about hearing the trollish dialect of orcish spoken with such bland precision, rather than with the sort of warmth-or at least emotion-that the trolls themselves seemed to have even in the worst of moments. "As you might have imagined, he was the commander of the Azure forces-and, as the letter says, he is now dead."

For a long moment, silence stretched out, dominating the room. It held the blood knight, the overlord, and all those who had gathered to look on in its chill grasp, and even the impassive image of Aethas Sunreaver seemed at a loss for words.

But, the sound that broke that silence was entirely unfitting indeed. From the throat of the overlord came a deep, condescending laugh, the sound of it almost like the beat of some maddening drum as it resounded through the room. His voice was even more contemptous when he spoke; "...boo hoo, how touching! What did I say? Traitors! Still, I knew Deino once-"

He did not have time to finish, because a blow from the flat side of the blood knight's waraxe had sent his massive form reeling back into his throne, upon which he collapsed for a moment, dazed. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers.

Only a moment later, enraged by the attack upon their master, the two massive worgs in the room growled. One of them launched itself immediately into a flying leap, its gigantic jaws slavering until the blade of that well-honed axe connected with its open mouth, effectively slicing its skull in two.

Deftly dodging away from the rest of its body, the blonde elf lifted her weapon again in time to parry a lunge from the second worg with its flack side, already speaking; her voice seemed to take on a terrible tone, as though it could rend the very air, as she spoke three words in the Thalassian tongue. As she spoke them, golden light pulsed from her axe and the second worg barely had time to whimper as the holy power struck it down without so much as scorching its fur.

"You orcs treasure honor, and yet this is the way you speak of your own honored dead?!" Any semblance of calm had disappeared from her voice as the paladin spoke in orcish again, not even bothering to threaten the recovering orc with her axe. "You bring shame to the warchief and to all the rest of us-is this the example you would set for our newly-made allies? Is this the example you would use to say that we are not the monsters that our enemies would call us?"

She shook her head, sneering with disgust. "Send the letter and learn respect for the fallen, or I shall deliver it myself-and deprive you of the only competent warrior in your entire force! For the hundred orcs who serve you, none of them has done half as much as I have toward our victory over the Scourge."

"Guards!" shouted the overlord, reaching for his axe in turn and refusing to acknowledge her words beyond that. But the guards seemed very much disinclined to interfere, especially the newly-inducted Taunka, who seemed rather aghast at the orc's words themselves.

"Save your breath, fool. The Horde values strength above all-we both know that, and you've proved that you lack that, 'overlord.' Be glad I am not warchief, or you would be nothing but another peon tasked with endless toil-it seems it would be a better match for your abilities." She sneered, and stepped forward, disarming him before he could fully recover with a swift kick, then turning and collecting the letter that she had dropped in the sudden melee.

The paper was offered to one of the shaken guards, and then she started to leave, only to pause a moment, her voice calmer again. "If there is more you would have me do, Lord Sunreaver, let us speak alone." Then, before the archmage she had addressed could respond either, she had departed.

Some part of her was almost disappointed; after all of that, she yet lived... and the hollowness in her stomach had not even slightly receded. It was going to be a long day, decided the blood knight, as she awaited the image of her fellow sin'dorei to come-it seemed a given that he would indeed come.


	2. Wretched Bloody Snow

II: Wretched Bloody Snow

The once-pristine snow around her was stained red with blood. Some patches deceptively remained white, but she knew the truth of it-that they were patches of fur, not untouched snow. No, nothing that she touched remained clean. On some level the thought was reassuring; despite that she wielded powers some would consider holy, to pretend she was untainted would've been absurd.

No, it was not merely the blood of the wintersabers that stained her. That blood itself could barely be seen, in truth, against the black and red of her armor... No, no amount of blood could stain one who proudly deemed herself a Blood Knight; one whose very people were the sin'dorei... Children of the blood. Some had high minded justifications for the name they had taken for themselves, but she had no such delusions.

Still, some part of her couldn't help but feel remorse for the slain tiger before her, called a legend by the fool who had sent her to kill it. Why had she so much as bothered? It was hardly as though the money he had offered had been of much worth to her, nor even the fierce predators offered anything close to a true challenge. Some part of her wondered what that said about her own character, that she was a far more efficient, ruthless killer than the finest of nature's creations.

Not that it mattered much. It shouldn't have been anything resembling a surprise, when she had been trained under the auspices of the Blood Knights. Was that not what they aspired to? To reach heights unattained by mortals through sheer force of will-to dominate the very power of light that others preferred to stand as suppliants to?

Yet it was not in pursuit of such mastery that she had committed this murder. No, if such mastery was to be had, then she already had it... Perhaps that was the problem, the blood elf decided. It would've been better to feel that she still had much to learn if she wished to obtain mastery of the light, but it was all too easy to bend it to her will already. The minor wounds she had suffered in the fray had already been mended and all but erased from her body, which could still nearly be called flawless.

The snow beneath her was bloodied, too. Very little of that blood was her own, and to anyone looking upon it, it might've seemed as though she were reveling in her kills as she lingered there, laying in the bloodstained snow. But already a new cloak of pristine whiteness had begun to fall; it was most noticeable for the white flecks it became upon her crimson armor. Soon, all proof of her work would be erased from the world.

She did not hunt for the thrill of the hunt, or for the notoriety or the meager compensation. It was not for spite of the wilds' rulers, either, though the wanton slaughter seemed as though it could've been attributed to that. Desperately her mind had sought to cling to such justifications, but faced with the chill, unyielding face of the winter world around her, she found herself unable to maintain the sort of facade that was so easily erected within the bounds of civilization.

No, here, alone with herself and her actions, the truth of it was frighteningly obvious. She had killed because fighting was an escape-she had not come here by choice. It had been nothing more than an accident that she had stumbled upon the hunters' camp, for she had not been searching for it, or for anything else... It was fear that had driven her to cross the snows with reckless abandon.

_We were not naive, as our forefathers were. We were suspicious and cunning and ready for betrayal at every turn. Yet our pride and greed drove us to ruin once more. How many more will be lost to Kel'theril?_

The words echoed in her head, even now, as clearly as the moment she had first heard them despite that it had been over a week now. Beauty of the frozen lake seemed the landscape of a nightmare, looking back upon it. She ought have realized where it would lead when the first spirit had spoken to her.

But it had been so easily to laugh in her heart. So easy to sneer in contempt at the tale told by the spirit of the kal'dorei. It mattered little that they had been her ancestors; they had been fools, guileless and trusting enough to become the pawns of demons. Why was it any surprise that their tortured spirits lingered?

She had kept such arrogance within her own mind, of course, taking spear in hand and summoning her boundless holy power to free those spirits through battle; perhaps they might yet find solace in the Goddess. Ironically, for all her disdain of the kal'dorei, she was one of those few amongst her people who still looked to the Moon Goddess if they looked to any divine force at all...

But then, when she had thought the task done, the ghostly form of the night elf had sent her instead to another. Even then, her heart had felt uncomfortably heavy, despite that she could still summon some disdain for the quel'dorei that her people had been not so long before. It was their addiction to arcane magic that had left a damning curse upon her beloved homeland-a curse that even she had once struggled tooth and nail with.

Still, she had pressed on, some sense of duty to those who had come before compelling her to complete the spirit's task. The ghosts of the quel'dorei had been laid to rest, but still her work had not been done. When the ghost of one of her own people had appeared from the crisp, clear air, her heart had begun to race with terrifying intensity.

In the face of his words, her arrogance had shattered in her heart and mind. It remained upon her face and her tongue, but as she had listened, her stomach had frozen itself into a lump of ice far colder than that which covered the lake upon which they stood.

_ One year ago..._

_ The legend of the Crystal of Zin-Malor reached Silvermoon, and I led a group of the finest warriors and scholars available to this land. We brought ample mana crystals, so none of us would be tempted to taste the crystal itself._

_ The crystal did not need our hunger to ruin us. Once in our possession, it warped all but me into wretched beasts. The wretched souls still wander, seeking more lives to chain to this lake. Will you give them mercy... or flee to die on safer ground someday?_

It was hard to read the face of a spirit, even when it was of her own people. In her heart of hearts, she could not shake the thought that he had looked upon her with the same mocking disdain that she had watched the others spirits with. Even here, with quel'thalas so far behind her, there seemed not escape from the curse of her people...

_"Safer ground? _No _ground is safer than that upon which I stride, for the power that I have made my own consecrates the very earth beneath my feet, if I desire it to be so! If those of our people who came were so weak as that, then the honor of the sin'dorei will be redeemed by my hand," _she had shouted, but the fervor with which such a response was given had destroyed any chance that it would seem as calm and easy as her responses to the other spirits' words had been.

Even as soon as she had spoken the words, they were hateful to her. Still the ghastly faces of the many Wretched she had battled in her homeland haunted her, with their almost green, ghoulish skin and hungering eyes. Their visages had lingered in his mind far longer than even the twisted faces of the banshees, the bloated, hideous forms of the abominations, or even the twitching, scuttling forms of the massive nerubians.

She had strode into Deatholme without fear to purge quel'thalas of their evil, and that act had been a hundred times easier than it was now to willingly confront the spirits of the wretched. Her blade had flashed, and the power of light flowed through her without end and yet none of that could steel her heart against the terror that filled it each time one came at her. They growled as though beasts, even in undeath...

But the worst of it all was the bitter withdrawal. Even in Silvermoon, they had known how to channel the pain of their hunger-to use that damning hunger as a weapon-and these spirits were no different. What terrified her, however, was not the pain. No, the pain of their hunger... was nothing new. When they had channeled it against her, she felt nothing.

Sitting up in the snow in the present, she clenched one hand into a fist. "It doesn't matter. My hunger is forever sated!" The words seemed to lose their substance as they dissipated into the cold, uncaring expanse of the snow. Purposefully, the blonde blood elf ignored that fact.

No, it did not matter if the words felt hollow or not. Her hunger for magic was quenched by the limitless power of the light; it was hers for the taking whenever she wished to have it. Of course the hunger of the wretched could not touch her-she was already too far above it. The Blood Knights had vanquished their curse...

That thought was one that she clung to with all of her might. It was the only thing that preserved her sanity, in the frozen heart of Winterspring, because she dared not look down. If she looked down, she knew what she would see in the snow; she would see a twisted reflection, her skin stretched pallid and dull, a gray-green color.

In that distorted reflection, her beauty would be undone, the noble sharpness of her face twisted into loose dullness, the green glow of her eyes dimmed. Her blonde hair, so carefully cared for even now, would be matted and fraying, its vibrant color drained away... If she looked at her reflection now, the Wretched would still stare back at her. And so, for now, she could only keep running.


	3. Onslaught's End

III: Onslaught's End

The Scarlet Cathedral loomed large before her, but already three or four of its defenders laid strewn out upon the steps, their bodies rent asunder by mighty swings from her axe. It seemed fitting, some part of her mused, that the weapon itself had been her prize for victory in an arena known as the Amphitheater of Anguish. In but a few weeks' time, its blade had already been stained with the blood of hundreds.

Indeed, it seemed almost surprising that none of her many weapons-the rest, sans a smaller sword, left on Dalaran for safekeeping-had become like the runeblades of the death knights. Not long before, she had aided Koltira Deathweaver in strengthening his blade, and noted with some twisted amusement that the things he'd asked of her were not terribly different from the things that she herself did routinely in service of the Horde.

Perhaps that was why she felt some lingering sympathy for the woman whose life she had come to take. It was hard to truly resent the Scarlet Onslaught for wishing to destroy the Forsaken... That had been her impression years ago already, as a young initiate in Quel'thalas, and closer contact with the undead had only reinforced that opinion.

Despite that Hallow's End was officially over, though, her face was yet painted with ashes. Perhaps she would wipe them away after this, but when she had been given such a solemn task, the grim mask had seemed appropriate to wear for a few more days. Much of her still wondered if they wouldn't be better off handing over the undead wretches to these fallen crusaders and making a temporary alliance; at least then, their zeal might've been put to good use.

But no, instead it would be wasted futilely against her. There had been bitter irony in the way that they had shouted words about purity as she strode through their city. After all, her easy victory over so many of them had been ample proof that her mastery over the light was far greater than theirs. Indeed, they had no mastery of it...

If not for that, there might've been some lingering temptation to draw parallels between the Onslaught and the Blood Knights. But while her people had a certain ruthless zeal, they were no fools. They were not blinded by the illusion that there was some... greater good in the light. No, she lifted her hands, summoning a powerful, reinvigorating flood of holy power. The light was nothing but power to be mastered, little different than the arcane power that her people still craved.

Given all of that, she almost pitied the High General. It seemed more than apparent that she had been manipulated into imagining herself guided by a force that had no will and could not direct anyone. Reading the Onslaught leader's journal had been a dismal experience upon the whole... The Blood Knight had to admit that she might've been able to consider Abbendis a friend and ally under other circumstances. She had proved her ability as a general, but her blind faith in the Light... Well, it would now be her undoing.

Such thoughts were pushed aside. With a measured pace, she set foot into the cathedral, her lip curling in the disdain that was seen so often from her race at the old stories of the impure being struck down upon entering into a sanctuary of the light. Perhaps that had worked at Light's Hope, but the Scarlet Onslaught had no such protection. There was not so much as a touch of holy energy in the air as her heavy saronite boots, crafted in the same black and red all all of her armor, struck the stone.

The sound of it echoed, but it mattered little. The dying screams of the fallen would already have alerted the defenders, and it was of no importance whether or not they knew that she was coming. It took little more than a thought to surround herself with a sacred shield of holy power, reinforcing her armor further. No, there was no difference as to whether they were prepared or not, for not even a hundred of them could strike her down.

Indeed, that thought filled some deep part of her soul with crushing despair. Even going into a battle such as this one, she felt not even the slightest twinge of fear-not even the slightest hope that it might yield an honorable escape from a life that still felt as though it belonged to someone else entirely at times.

Her axe was readied, as she reached the threshold leading into the inner cathedral. Her glowing green eyes took in the readied defenders; yes, Abbendis was a fine general. Her crusaders stood together, none of them rushing ahead alone. Yet not even that could save them... Abbendis herself was an attractive woman, mused the blood elf.

She stood at the far end of the cavernous room, clad in the white and red garb of the Scarlet Crusade-no, now the Scarlet Onslaught. Her face showed signs of care, and yet it still had a sharp, youthful beauty to it. Despite the exhaustion that showed around her eyes, she had not yet lost all of her zeal. That much could be seen in the piercing stare that she affixed the intruder with.

Around her head fell auburn hair, worn short in a way that reminded one that she was a soldier... One hand held a shield, while a small silver axe filled the other, held with an ease that belayed the strength contained in her somewhat petite frame. In many ways, Alindrianna mused, they were like reflections of one another, in this moment. And she knew that she herself, the Blood Knight, was the darker reflection.

"You've come to test the Onslaught? You might want to rethink your actions, fool! Surely you realize that the will and power of the light are behind us-how can you justify it? I know of you, now. How could I not, after all the harm that you have done us? But even for all of that, you are a paladin, blood elf. Why do you defend the vile undead?"

A bitter laugh answered the human's speech. "A paladin? You mistake me for one of your misguided fools, general. There are no paladins amongst the ranks of the sin'dorei... No, there are only Blood Knights. I drink of the light's power as though it were water, and discard it as easily if I so desire. My loyalty is not to it, nor to any higher ideal such as you would espouse. I serve only my people, and I care no more for the Forsaken than I care for you, but so long as the fate of the sin'dorei rests with the Horde, so too shall my own."

Despite that the words were spoken entirely for the sake of inciting anger in her foe-in hopes of stirring the hot-headed crusader's rage and clouding her mind with fury-they were also entirely true. It mattered little, in the end, that the orcs were nearly all worthless fools, or that the Forsaken were vile beyond the ability of words to describe. No, she was left with no choice but to suffer them so long as Silvermoon was counted amongst their allies. That bitter thought added to the despair in her heart.

Abbendis flinched as though slapped. "...you dare say such things here, upon sacred ground?! I care not how much blood you have upon your hands, this will be your end! Guards, deal with this intrusion-I do not have the time for this!" When she recovered to speak and utter fury filled her voice, the Blood Knight knew she had succeeded.

But now the time for words was at an end. Beside her, the miniature infernal that she had coerced into being her companion seemed disinterested in the way that the Onslaught warrior were starting to charge its mistress. The ill-tempered little demon was probably hoping they would kill her, she mused idly.

Even as she thought such things, though, a pair of golden wings burst from the back of her armor, shimmering and translucent. Before the first of her enemies reached her, a fiery hammer of light crashed down from above her, knocking the foremost of them aside and setting his body afire. Only long experience let her ignore his screams...

And then, she was swinging her axe in a mightfy arc; again, it was before any of them had reached her... A quick step back ensured that none of them could manage that before the shockwave of holy energy her blow had unleashed struck them, staggering them and giving her precious seconds... Those were all that she needed.

Shifting her axe into one hand momentarily, the blood elf lifted the other and thrust it forward, a torrent of holy energy spilling from it and smashing into the crusaders. There was something intensely ironic about performing an exorcism upon members of a self-proclaimed holy order, but that thought was lost because she had no time for it.

Instead, again taking her axe in both hands, she stepped forward again; this time, the mighty cleave that she delivered _did_ connect, and her axe's blade was sheathed in holy energy, unleashing what was practically a divine storm. The blade itself, unnaturally sharp, cut through skin and armor with equal ease, and when her motion ceased, the entire contingent of guards had fallen.

But that chill, unnatural stillness lasted for no more than a heartbeat. Lifting her weapon, the Blood Knight covered the remaining distance separating her and Abbendis in seconds... The high general did not so much as have time to speak again. Her shield lifted in an attempt to deflect the first blow, but that success came at a high cost; the shield shattered under the force of the blow.

The next she sought to meet with her own axe, but it was miscalculated when Alindrianna struck with the blunt side of the weapon instead, knocking the other's defense aside and delivering a stunning blow. Before the human could recover, another true swing of the axe separated Abbendis's head from her body, and blood painted the cathedral's ornate stonework red.

Very little of the blood spilled upon the Blood Knight, however; in a display of agility, she had leapt back to land several feet away. The wings upon her back faded away, and her breathing came in hard gasps as her glowing eyes turned to the final figure in the room, that of an aging human male. He was certainly the admiral she had read of in Abbendis's diary.

"Want to try your luck too...?" There was almost a note of hope in her voice as she looked at him, able to feel a surprising amount of arcane power rolling off him. A part of her she had often told herself was dead desired that power, but moreover... he seemed a far more dangerous enemy.

"Do not flatter yourself, elf. She served her purpose... But unless you can make it to Icecrown, I have no use for you." He laughed, striding through the pooling blood without concern, a shield rippling the air around him as he bypassed the dead high general.

Before she could retort, though, there was a familiar but unexpected angry rumbling sound from behind her. The minfernal, usually silent, responded to the nearness of the Onslaught's admiral with extreme hostility, and that gave the Blood Knight pause. She hesitated, then drew a harsh breath.

"Hmph. I have no mandate for your head, though I would not hesitate to take it, whatever you are. I highly doubt you're human, but what does that matter here? If we meet in Icecrown, crusader... Then you will die." It was hard to tell it he could see through her bravado or not, but the man made no response as he strode from the building.

Once she was gone, she let out a long breath and sagged a little, even as she stepped forward to collect the general's bloody head from the ground. That man mattered little; the Scarlet Onslaught had been broken. Now she could return... It was time to stop wasting time with these distractions. To the north, Angrathar the Wrathgate-and their true enemy, the Lich King-awaited...


	4. To Climb the Highest

IV: To Climb the Highest

More than once, she had heard "on top of the world" used, and whenever it was, the feeling described was almost exclusively one of joy or elation. Why exactly that connotation had come about was not immediately obvious when one was actually atop the world, the Blood Knight decided, her eyes scanning the land below. In every direction, the world seemed to stretch out infinitely.

The dragonhawk she had ridden up to the pinnacle of the massive keep circled nearby, while in the distance the form of a dragon as pale as the endless snows was growing larger as it approached, but neither of them was paid any real mind. No, somehow it was an entirely different feeling to look down upon the world from here than it was to do the same from the back of her dragonhawk. Flying _was_ exhilarating, with the wind rushing past and the whole world seeming within her grasp.

She was a skilled rider after so long, and the serpentine dragonhawk felt almost like an extension of her own body, its armored, silvery body complying to the subtle commands contained in every move, every shift of her slight form upon its back. The creature was an exceptional mount; it was no wonder why her people had chosen to tame them. But to be atop the tremendous keep was not at all the same.

To quantify exactly what the different, however... That task took more effort, if it could be done at all. Green eyes narrowed as they looked out over the frozen wastes of Icecrown. In the distant loomed a towering fortress, yet from so far, so high, even it seemed small. The wind still blew savagely, as though trying to bruise the pale skin of her face, guarded only at her mouth and jaw, and somehow that managed to be an entirely different feeling from the rush of wind past her face as she soared through the frigid northern sky...

Her eyes shifted again, glancing to the north, where the ocean seemed to stretch out to the world's end. Maybe it did. Up beyond the northern isles of Icecrown, she somehow couldn't imagine that even the mages of Dalaran knew what was to be found. From so high, even the unnatural mists that had been drawn to those islands posed no threat to her vision, and somehow that was more frightening.

Maybe the world ended, but on some level that thought was better than the idea of endless ocean... It wasn't so different from staring into the Twisting Nether, the endless expanse of debris and nothingness that she'd nearly fallen into more than once in her time in Outlands. "When you stare long into the abyss..." The wind stole her words, and she shook her head, to clear it. The wingbeat of the approaching dragon was loud enough to be heard over the wind, now, but she had realized what made this place unsettling-even frightening.

When she soared above the world upon the wings of her dragonhawk, it was by choice. In those precious moments, she was the ruler of her own destiny; life and death and everything that those two choices entailed were within her grasp, and that choice was hers alone to make. Here, it was the opposite... Here she was trapped, with no way to freedom, no escape from the towering height save death. Not even her mastery of the light could grow wings strong enough that she could reach the ground 'pon them.

The sound of another pair of boots told her that she was no longer alone, but even so, her gaze lingered in the distance a moment longer, before she turned back. In the same moment, her weapon was drawn; the blade was new, and still exceptionally sharp. The elegant handguard and detailing upon even the blade itself bespoke sin'dorei craftsmanship, and the weapon matched its wielder rather perfectly-a beautiful, deadly weapon.

"Sarinissa," she greeted, voice just loud enough to be heard over the wind. Two pairs of glowing green eyes met as paladin and Blood Knight nodded to each other in greeting.

"Alindrianna," echoed the other, drawing her own ornate weapon, which might've been called a poleblade or glaive. Despite that both of them wore black armor, there was a certain pointed contrast there... The most obvious aspect of it was that the other blood elf's armor was detailed in blue rather than in red, and her hair was hidden almost entirely beneath her helm, revealing only her face and a few telltale auburn strands that managed to escape.

However, it went deeper than just that. There was a difference in the set of their faces, in their stances... To put a name to those subtleties seemed impossible, but somehow the pair, despite their similarities-both in race and in their abilities-could scarcely have seemed more different. Whatever else might've been contained in their gazes or voice, though, there was definitely mutual respect there.

"I see you came rather early. Eager to get this over with?" The paladin said this after a moment, her eyes shifting to the colossal horn that dominated one side of the keep's roof. From her tone, she herself wasn't terribly eager for what was to come, although it seemed distaste more than any sort of fear. No, fear was not to be found in either of them, in this moment.

"Eager? No, I would not say that. Anxious, perhaps-I tire of these games. I would sooner walk into the home of this fool of a thane and strike him down there. I think it would serve our purposes far better anyway. There aren't any of those vrykul fools here to watch their champion fall as nothing, and _that_ would terrify them far more than all of this subterfuge." A touch of annoyance had enter the blonde's tone, as she replied, though it wasn't directed toward the other. Now she moved toward the horn.

"You're still so eager to just rush into things... It won't do anyone but Arthas any good if we just rush in and die. You know I don't care for these games either, but at least there _is_ someone to kill. I'll take this over being back in Karazhan any day." The beginning was spoken with light amusement, but the last part came out nearly as a growl.

That brought a bitterly amused laugh from the other. "I doubt a thousand of these brutes could hope to kill us, but still, I suppose you're right. If there is ever another place such as that accursed tower, I swear to Elune..." The words trailed off, and Alindrianna shook her head. "Let's get on with this, then."

When the words were met with a nod, the blonde lifted one hand to remove her spiked mouthguard and put her lips to the horn... Blowing hard enough to be heard was quite the effort, but the sound that emerged surely had to be enhanced by some magic, for it seemed to rend the very air and echo endlessly across the frigid wasteland of Icecrown. Moments later, the beat of wings filled the air, and a quartet of protodrake riders rose into view. Not long after, a fourth appeared, more ornamented than the rest, and ridden by yet another of the enormous vrykul.

"You challenge me, worms?! You haven't earned the right!" thundered the giant, his voice loud enough that it could be easily heard over the howling wind. Alindrianna rolled her eyes, about to respond... However, before either of the two blood elves could respond, another figure appeared at their side.

It still mystified the Blood Knight how it was that the val'kyr could be such stunningly attractive creatures when they had been vyrkul in life. The women of the fetid race were as vile and uncouth as the men, and perhaps moreso because they seemed to feel some need to prove themselves as "able" as those males... Yet in undeath, their beauty was enough to make even the most vain of her people gaze upon their translucent, winged forms with some measure of envy. Only their voices remained grating and unpleasant. "You are wrong, Balargarde!"

Normally, the appearance of one of the Lich King's harbingers would've led to her being slain before the vrykul they had come here to kill, lest she raise their foe in undeath as well. However, this time was different, and both knew that. It took effort not to laugh at the giant's reaction, even as he jumped from his protodrake, his landing shaking the very roof upon which they all stood.

"Vardmadra?! Did the Lich King send you personally?" From the shocked tone, it was not at all difficult to imagine the sort of face that was to be seen beneath the horned, spiked helm that the Overthane wore upon his head. Yes, restraining her mocking laughter took effort.

The val'kyr didn't deign to answer that question. No, her raspy voice was full of command and contempt; "You _will_ accept their challenge." The words left no room at all for argument.

Hearing them, the Overthane roared loudly; "Very well. I will dispatch these creatures. It is only an inconvenience. Prepare to die!" From his back, the enormous male drew a somewhat crude sword, though one that very much matched his stature, and charged forward...

There was no more need for words, from him or from the two blood elves. Their own weapons were at the ready, and Sarinissa charged forward first, easily deflecting the first blow from his mighty weapon with her glaive-the sound of steel upon steel echoed, and the battle had begun.

Despite her contempt for him and all of his barbaric kind, as they battled against him, Alindrianna couldn't help but admit that the Overthane had rather impressive stamina. Blow after blow fell upon his mighty armor, steel and holy power alike seeking to rend his flesh and shatter his bones, yet he fought on in an inhuman rage, more than once forcing both of them back under his onslaught of blows.

Indeed, there was something almost tragic about the moment. Despite that colossal strength and unending endurance, the most he could help to do was push them back. No matter how mighty his blows, he could not hope to truly strike at either of them, not when his barbaric sword would shatter before either of their finely-crafted weapons would even weaken, and not when any minor wound he did manage to inflict was mended just as swiftly by the inexhaustible font of holy power from which the both of them were able to draw...

Just when it seemed that the giant's strength was beginning to wane, however, a chill settled over the field of battle. That was, of course, not a physical chill, for nothing could turn the air colder than it was in the frozen sky above Icecrown. No, the chill that permeated everything so suddenly was entirely a chill of the mind, of the spirit. That chill threatened to freeze over that very wellspring of light from which their unending power stemmed.

Before she could find the source of the sudden frigid coldness-even though some part of her already knew it could only be one thing-the Overthane had drawn back, falling to one knee as he turned; "STOP! Kneel you fools, it's the Lich King!"

The Blood Knight had not thought that her blood could run colder than it had when that chill settled over her. Nothing could've been further from the truth she realized now, as her gaze found what it sought and she gazed into the eyes of Death.

Those eyes were somehow both colder than any ice in all the world, and at the same time they burned with a flame that seemed to sear her very soul with nothing more than a glance. Alone, they were already a hundred times more than any other creature in Icecrown-or all of Northrend-had been, and yet here they were nothing more than the smallest facet of the Lich King.

Even the towering form of the Overthane seemed nothing but a mote of sand, or an irrelevant flake of snow, in the face of the presence that was the lord of the Scourge. His body was clad in armor, forged of the black blood of a fallen god, and yet the irresistible chill that permeated the world at his very presence had frozen and frosted over even such otherworldly armor as that. In one hand, he carried the storied blade of Frostmourne, the weapon against which no mortal blade could ever hope to stand. That thought alone was almost enough to make her step back in sheer terror.

Indeed, she would've done so if it were not for the fact that the paladin beside her _did_ take that step back, her face nearly as white as the snow below. Alindrianna couldn't imagine that her own face was much different, in this moment. But something in that sparked anger deep within her heart. So many times, she had fled from things that she feared, forever drawing away, running, escaping them... Not this time.

It took all the strength she had, but instead of taking that step back, she took a step _forward_. Her voice felt as raspy and foul as that of the val'kyr, but she managed to speak, unable to tell if the words sounded at all brave or merely pathetic but needing to say them, for herself. "...I bow to no king, vrykul."

The Lich King barely seemed to notice her existence, much less care about her words. No, after that brief moment in which their eyes had met, his frostfire gaze was turned entirely upon the val'kyr maiden who floated nearby. His voice seemed to echo upon itself a hundred times over, not only overcoming the wind but drowning _it_ out; "Honor guard stay where you are. Vardmadra. I'd wondered where you disappeared to. How is Iskalder?" The accusation in that voice and in his gaze were unmistakeable.

As the king of the damned approached the kneeling battle maiden with steps that each seemed to shake the world to its very foundations, Sarinissa managed to recover enough of her composure to step forward as well, so that the two of them looked on side-by-side. Instinctively, Alindrianna's hand sought that of the other, not certain if she sought to take comfort or offer it.

The answer to that question barely mattered, because when their gloved hands met, each squeezed with a pressure that would've been excruciatingly painful under any other circumstance. Now, though, it served to remind both that they were yet alive, and that neither of them faced this moment alone...

"My... my lord," stammered the val'kyr as the towering form of the Lich King reached her. One of his massive hands-the one that did not hold Frostmourne-shot out, grasping her chest.

"I see through your disguise, Lady Nightswood. YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN FOOL ME?!" The force of his words seemed to make even the once-fierce wind whimper and flee in terror, and there was a flash of unholy light from the pair of them; a moment later, the translucent form of a banshee fled through the air, her keening wale seeming insignificant in comparison to the force of the armored king's words.

As Vardmadra crumpled to the ground, her face uncertain, he turned back to the combattants. This time, both paladin and Blood Knight resisted the urge to flinch back before him, but only barely. Without the support of the other, Alindrianna knew in her heart that this time she would've truly fled from him. But those frostfire eyes moved past them, to the thane.

"You may continue your combat, overthane." The words were spoken simply, as though it were not at all strange, and it was not hard to imagine the confusion beneath the helm...

"But, my lord..." began the vyrkul; this time, there was nothing remotely close to the desire to laugh, Alindrianna reflected bitterly.

"But nothing! Finish them! DO NOT FAIL ME, BALARGARDE!" Again the wind was cowed, and the air itself stood still in the wake of the Lich King's shout.

There were no more words-none but the Lich King had the ability to speak further, and so the clash resumed... Despite the frigid gaze that watched their battle, both of the paladins seemed renewed; it was far, far easier to throw themselves into the battle than it was to face the terrifying form that lorded over the rooftop. It felt more like a cage than even before.

All too soon, they had won, and reality returned. This time, both stepped back as the black-armored form of their enemy stepped forward, surveying his fallen champion. Then, his eyes lifted again, and he let out a haunting laugh.

"You have bested one of my finest, but your efforts are for naught." The fury of before was gone; now, if anything, there was a trace of amusement in that voice. "The frozen heart of Icecrown awaits..." And then, as suddenly as he had come, he was gone.

Neither paladin nor Blood Knight could speak as they left the field of battle upon their mounts, but the air between them was heavy. Perhaps the Lich King was gone for the moment, but the fear that his coming had brought would not so quickly be vanquished. And, his final words echoed still; if they were to ever have any hope of victory, then there was no escape from the prospect of returning to face him.

They would have to make that choice-to face Death itself, upon its very throne. She knew not how Sarinissa addressed her fear, but as for her own part... for the first time in years, once she had returned to her tent upon the Argent Tournament grounds, the Blood Knight drowned her cares and sorrows and fears, seeking to wash them away with all too much wine.


	5. Shattering Sun

V: Shattering Sun

There were those who had joined the defecting Scyers because they truly believed in Voren'thal's vision of the Naaru bringing about the salvation of their cursed race. Perhaps even most of the renegade Blood Elves who had taken up residence in Shattrath were as such, truly faithful to his vision. She, however, was not amongst their number. It was not hard to say with some certainty that none of their little band were amongst that number-if they had been, they would not be where they were.

That was to say, the mandate of the Shattered Sun called for unified action. It called for a single offensive, guided by the will of A'dal and those leaders from both the ruling factions of Shattrath who had come together to make the accord. They were to put aside their old differences and work together for the good of all...

The thought was bitterly ironic, to her. They were to accept the grudging help of the draenei in this matter? To accept the unspoken scorn and the far more obvious patronization that would come with that help? No, the thought was absurd; in saving the world, the draenei and their allies were free to help as they wished, but _this_ was a sin'dorei matter alone.

It would have mattered little who it was that sought to intrude; she would've rebuked help from the orcs or humans or tauren just as vehemently... This redemption could not be accomplished through cooperating,or through the will of the tiresome, ineffectual naaru. No, this redemption had to come at their own hands, or it would be worth nothing.

She was the only Blood Knight amongst the small but highly competent group that had assembled before the gates of Kael'thas's final stronghold. The thought that that did not mean she was the only paladin was a strange one, but perhaps it was not so peculiar any longer. Perhaps it was for the best that there would be no more apprentices of Lady Liadrin such as she herself had been...

Indeed, it was hard not to feel a touch of jealousy for the other. The other woman's skill was striking, and perhaps more striking was the fact that she carried no such burdens as the Blood Knight herself did, yet she was no devout follower of the light either. Yes, that was something worth being jealous of-the ability to live this life without accruing such a burden... That was not to say the other was without her burdens, but they were not burdens that had come from living the life of a Blood Knight.

But in this moment, that jealousy was only fleeting. It was more important that they fought together, for it was impossible to deny that the other paladin had a striking degree of natural talent-probably more than Alindrianna herself would ever had. Ironically, _that_ thought brought no jealousy with it...

She shook her head, clearing it of such thoughts as her blonde hair fluttered attractively around her, and straightened. Regardless of their physical skill, it was the Blood Knight's doing that they had gathered here, making this assault upon Magisters' Terrace before the rest of the Shattered Sun could assemble enough of a force to do so. They all had their own reasons for coming...

"...tonight, we do as our people have always done. That is to say, we do what we must. The man who led us to the height of glory has now plunged our people into the depths of darkness. I know not if he can be redeemed, but we all know that this day will make us kinslayers," she said quietly, her eyes glancing around the group. No one objected; this was nothing new, for any of them.

It was hard not to let her eyes linger upon those of the other paladin, and her gaze was met with one that was full of tumultuous emotion. The other woman-Sarinissa was her name-was still such an enigma to the group's de facto leader. Even now, she seemed possessed of such unflinching resolve, despite the stories that she had been or even still was in love with their prince. She had fought at Tempest Keep, though; that alone spoke volumes.

Noticing her gaze, Sarinissa stepped forward slightly, until she stood distinctly between the Blood Knight and the rest of the Scryers who were present. A pregnant silence lingered for several seconds, and then she nodded, a few strands of auburn hair escaping from beneath her dark helm as she purposefully drew her ornate polearm.

"...she's right. Whatever Kael has done, he has betrayed us-all of us. The good he has done in the past cannot shield him from that any longer." It was not hard to detect a note of anguish in the words, but it detracted not at all from their conviction. If anything, then it made the resoluteness contained in them all the more poignant and moving.

Yes, she envied the other, who could still summon such emotion in this moment. Alindrianna envied even that anguish, for at least sorrow could be called feeling. The pain of heartbreak was better than the numbness that had settled over her own blackened heart. The old cliché that spoke of love and loss came to mind... Yet, that envy came with admiration, as well, and she drew a deep breath, nodding and speaking again.

"This night, we reclaim the honor of the sin'dorei. One way or another, a mad prince will no longer drag that honor with him if he descends into madness, nor he alone be its champion even if he is saved. Tonight, we reclaim our destiny."

Her green eyes turned back to the gateway before them, even as she became aware that the other paladin had moved forward to stand at her side. Perhaps the hint of tears that could almost be made out in the shadows were merely an illusion, but even if they were, they were a poignant one.

A sliver of sorrow worked its way into the heart that the Blood Knight had thought deadened, and from it she drew strength, and their silent stillness was broken. Moving with some unspoken synchronization, the two of them dashed forward, sword and spear flashing in the darkness as they overwhelmed the night watchmen with ease.

The battle that followed was a blur of magic and clashing blades as they fought their way inward, led tirelessly by the two paladins. Foe after foe fell, and they seemed to blur together-priests, magisters, warlocks, even the Blood Knights who had once been her brothers and sisters in arms... All of them fell before the onslaught of the attack, despite that Kael'thas had spared no effort in defending his final sanctum.

Indeed, the furious tide of violence only ceased at all when the group reached a room dominated by the Wretched. The sight of it seemed to repulse all of them, but Alindrianna most of all felt her chest clench at the sight of it... She could not help but notice that the other paladin was the only one amongst their number unaffected by the sight of the twisted elves. Another flash of envy struck her, and an impulsive decision followed.

"...I'll stay behind and deal with them. Every second we dally here is another that we risk losing this chance. Go on..." She paused, her eyes meeting the surprised gaze of the other paladin. Her own fear had not been well hidden from them.

"It will not hurt us so much to stay and help you," the other answered firmly. "Don't risk your life on this. It's not worth it, and we can kill him together far more quickly." Whatever pain had been there before had been pushed from it by the rigors of combat.

The words were met with a vehement refusal, as the blonde shook her head fiercely. "No. I will not die here, in this decrepit den of darkness, in this tribute to all that we have lost. But the Shattered Sun will soon notice our absence, and we have not been discrete in our battle. Go! You must-it falls to you to redeem our people, and to bring an end to all that he has wrought, one way or another. None of us, not even I, can do that in your place, Sarinissa. Besides... I have a score to settle with these Wretched filth."

Such an impassioned rebuke seemed to startle everyone, even the paladin, who did not seem easily moved. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to nod. "...fine. I'll go, but I consider that an oath. If you die..." The words trailed off, the threat implied, though not truly serious. It won a weak laugh, and a nod.

"An oath it is. If I die this night, then you can take whatever vengeance you so desire!" After that, no one argued-all of them pressed onward, even as the towering Wretched who seemed to be the room's guardian glutted himself upon a massive mana crystal, oblivious to the way that his followers were assailed.

One by one, they were run through or singed or sliced in two. The Blood Knight fought with such fury, such passion, that she seemed as though she were ten warriors, or twenty. When all her foes laid vanquished, she lifted a crystal goblet of wine and hurled it disdainfully at the Wretched lord, interrupting the way he fed from the crystal. A low growl filled the empty room as he looked up and cast his burning eyes upon her.

"...who dares interrupt? My hunger knows no bounds!" declared the once-elf, his face contorting with crazed fury as he saw her. In that anger, one could detect recognition. "You... You should not have returned, traitor, much less alone! The prince will reward me handsomely for your head!"

Alindrianna sneered at him, contempt and adrenaline masking her fear-masking the fact that she could not bear to look at all of those she had slain moments before. Yes, she envied the beautiful paladin who even now made her way to destroy the prince. For all her anger and sorrow, she was infinitely blessed to be free of this fear...

But her disdain in this moment was almost enough to truly counter that fear. Once, she had admired this man, Once, he had been handsome and noble and proud; now, he was a twisted reflection of that strength, not as withered as the other Wretched and yet in another way far, far worse than they could ever be. They were foul and vile, yet they could easily win contempt and rarely any other emotion. The elf who stood before her now... He was all the more foul to her eyes because he managed to be _almost_ good. He was _almost_ handsome, _almost_ strong, _almost _admirable... And his failure was all the more profound for that truth.

"The prince will not live past this day, Selin-and neither will you. But even if you kill me, you're too late to protect him... The thought that any of you would dare to call me a traitor, when you follow that man, is pathetic. He has done his best to destroy our people, but we are not lambs to be led meekly to the slaughter!" She laughed bitterly, advancing a step toward the raised stage upon which the powerful Wretched stood.

The room itself was furnished in true sin'dorei fashion, far too ornate to be a suitable battleground. The air was thick with opium and mana, the latter spilling temptingly from the ruptured crystal that she had interrupted Selin in feeding from. In this moment, she had to tell herself that she did not desire to draw all of that power from the air and take it for herself... Whatever hunger she had, she would never show it before the Wretched bastard who she was prepared to battle.

"Enough talk! You are a fool, fearing our greatest source of power... You could've been like me, if you hadn't denied your hunger. Now taste the power of a God!" Cackling insanely, he charged into battle, and yet another room that had once been pristine and perfect was shattered by war and stained with blood.

When the dust and flame and magic had all faded-though the disorienting opium still lingered in the air heavily-the room was silent. Nothing that had once been perfect remained untouched by their clash... Even the raised stage upon which Selin had stood was now cracked and crumbled. When nothing at all broke the stillness, one might've started to imagine that there had been no victor, and that both had fallen...

It was only after such an assumption might've been justified that the Blood Knight's form moved, and through sheer strength of will forced her body to sit up, surveying the broken battleground. It had taken all of her strength, but... victory was hers. For the first time in so very long, a ghost of a smile formed itself upon her exhausted face as she cast her gaze about.

Yet, she was not satisfied to linger there. In the morning, the Shattered Sun would find only a withered husk of her adversary, pierced a hundred different times by her blade before his life had finally drained away. All of the room was covered in shattered crystals-he'd had no lack of magic, no lack of power... So many victories in her life had been hollow, but that was enough to ensure that this one was not. He had summoned all the power he was able... and still he had fallen before her.

Indeed, she had been frightened of the battle as she had been frightened of no other. Death did not terrify her, but the thought of losing to _him, _the twisted creature who symbolized everything that she had fought so hard not to be, was unbearable. Now it only remained to see what she had come to see... Half-limping, half supporting herself upon the wall, she dragged her battered body onward, not so much as shedding a piece of her armor to make the burden lighter.

By the time she reached the inner sanctum, Kael'thas was long dead. The path had been littered with the forms of the fallen-both some of her own allies and some of the Sunfury. Yet she had not felt the need to inspect the corpses of the fallen. No, in her heart, she had known what she would find at the end of her long trek.

The moment in which she came upon the lifeless form of the once-great prince was somehow one of both immeasurable joy and unending sorrow... It was not a moment that words could ever describe, and yet... no words were needed. She moved to where Sarinissa knelt near the fallen form; now, the tears were no illusion. In the silence, though, Blood Knight and paladin allowed their sorrow to flow freely and to mingle. They were infinitely different people, the only two who lived at the end of the attack, but this indescribable moment was something that only they shared, and something that had changed both of them irrevocably.


	6. Winds of the North

VI: Winds of the North

Perhaps "onslaught" _was_ a good name for these fools. Their numbers truly did seem unending, despite that they were alone here in Northrend, lacking any allies or reinforcements whatsoever. It was a testament to the supremacy of stupidity that so many still fought and died for a dead ideal. If that ideal had ever been alive, then it had ended it when she took Abbendis's head. This time, the matter was going to be settled permanently.

Despite such resolve upon her part, it was hard to be wholly convinced of such a thing. Had she not said much the same thing before she had struck down the High General? Perhaps there was some further manipulator who would be revealed when she struck down Westwind. But then, it almost didn't matter.

No, not almost, the Blood Knight decided as she kicked aside the arm of a fallen raven priest and stared at the looming maw of the cave before her. It didn't matter on the slightest if she truly ended the Scarlet Onslaught this time. She had a score to settle with that brazen fool. Her heart had soared when she had found the note regarding his presence, carelessly concealed along with a sheaf of other information in a locked chest.

Normally, even as what she was, the sort of torture that the death knight had used to extract the location of this cave would've irritated her. Meddling with souls was the work of fools, priests, scum, and demons. And there was, she mused, a decidedly high amount of overlap between those first three. But despite that she could still hear the tortured screams of the severed bishop echoing in her mind if she thought of the affair, she barely cared.

Almost casually, she brandished her blade and pressed onward into the cavern. From within, a foul stench that seemed somehow all too familiar assaulted her nostrils, but before she could determine what it was, a bolt of shadowy energy was arcing through the air toward her. The Blood Knight staggered back, caught off guard by the impact despite that the shield of holy energy that enveloped her was easily able to ward off the weak spell.

A moment later, the vile cackle of an imp echoed through the cave and there could be no doubt; the putrid scent was the stench of sulfur and brimstone. "...well, well, the plot thickens," Alindrianna muttered to herself, even as she recovered from that stagger and launched into the flurry of blows she had become so accustomed to. The calm of battle came easily...

Moments later, two imps and their warlock masters laid dead upon the ground before her. One of the latter was still partially transformed, his body a gruesome mix of human and demon. That was to say, his eyes had already become soulless pits of blackness, and his skin had taken on an unnatural purple hue, whilst half-formed wings had been crushed by his weight when he fell. A gaping wound in his chest was testament to the way she had cut him down mid-transformation, and his face was contorted in some mix of agony and ecstasy.

Perhaps most intriguing-and concerning-was the fact that he, along with his fallen compatriot, both wore the emblem and regalia of the Onslaught. They were not some rogue warlocks, come to visit their own revenge upon the Scarlets. How low could these fools go? Some part of her almost expected to find undead crusaders within the cave as well.

Drawing in a deep, long breath, she shook her head, one hand reflexively lifting to push her hair from her face, only to remember that it had not actually fallen in her face. No, of late she had taken to wearing it in a tight bun atop her head to avoid sacrificing either its growing longness or her ability to fight without a full helm to contain the blonde strands. She had still not fully accustomed herself to the change.

But regardless, there seemed little to do but press onward. This time she advanced far slower and more warily, her green eyes glowing in the darkness that seemed tinted with the same fel taint that had created those eyes in the first place. Indeed, it seemed the Onslaught was quite openly consorting with demons here; the next two warlocks to come at her were accompanied by succubi. Now that she was entirely prepared for their shadow magics, they lasted only seconds against her attack.

It seemed this was indeed where the captured scouts the Ebon Blade commander had mentioned had disappeared to. Long experience with demons and those who consorted with them told her not to look too closely at the seemingly-sacrificed forms that were suspended in the air nearby. The fel taint seemed strongest there, and the spectral felfire that burned around them seemed to be what lit the cave with its eerie green color.

All of it reminded her far too much of the Outlands. For a moment, she felt as though she were back in the Labyrinth of Shadows, battling endlessly against the Cabal that had made its home there. At the very least, though, these warlocks seemed far weaker than those had... Or perhaps her strength had merely grown.

The answer seemed irrelevant; she pressed on, staining her intricate sin'dorei blade with the lives of more warlocks and their demons. When the path she had chosen reached a dead end, the Blood Knight demonstrated rather effectively just how many languages her travels had taught her colorful profanity in, and her glowing eyes remained fixed directly ahead of her, refusing to look at the horrors that lined the path.

The irony was not lost upon her, however, that the scenes of death and carnage she had left in her wake when first passing through were little easier upon the eyes than the grotesque rituals of the warlocks. The two melded together into an endless tapestry of horrors that framed her vision, leaving only the narrow band that was the floor directly in front of her free of such foulness. And even it was not always entirely free of death.

It was strange that it could still bother her so much, Alindrianna mused. Despite her acceptance of the path she walked, which was one almost entirely defined by blood and darkness, this spectacle could still cause her to flinch away. Perhaps it reminded her too much of her own people...

Yes, that was almost undoubtedly the answer. Once, she had reflected idly upon the superficial similarities between her own order and the Onslaught. Now, those similarities had suddenly extended to the whole of her race, and become much less superficial... The sight before her was all too familiar-the things she had seen that night in Magisters' Terrace so long ago could never be unseen.

So, indeed, it felt almost as though she had stepped into a walking nightmare, born of some twisted fusion of past and present. The two met here in a way that they never should've; the door on that chapter of her life was supposed to be rather permanently closed. The thoughts were enough that not even the calm of battle could drive them away-no, if anything such perfect focus brought them all the more strongly between clashes, stirring up her memories more strongly.

At the very least, experience and focus made her trek through the cave a short one. By its end, she cared not to think of how much more blood now stained her hands when she could not so much as recall any of the myriad clashes as more than a blur of light and shadow and an endless cacophony of pain. None of that pain had been her own, and somehow the masks that concealed the warlocks' faces made those screams more haunting.

But the journey was at its end. An all too familiar figure stood before her, although he somehow looked younger now, despite that his hair was still wholly silver and his skin still bore the lines of time. There was somehow less gravity and more youth contained in his visage. He hadn't yet noticed her yet, occupied with reading a missive of some sort.

"I believe that I have a promise to uphold." The words were spoken with the coldness that had overtaken her heart after battling her way to this place, the heart of of a nest of demons. Her greatsword was drawn still, its blade shining in the torchlight that lit this part of the cave-but it shone red, not silver, drenched in blood.

For a moment, she had the satisfaction of startling him, but the admiral's expression quickly became a mask of angry contempt as he looked upon the blood elf. "How did you find me? Did Landgren tell?"

"You say that as though it were a question. Did you really think they would remain loyal to trash like you? No, you brought together the scum of this world in your little onslaught, admiral-and now, the price for that has been exacted." She laughed bitterly, even as he drew a glowing red rapier from his side. There could be no mistaking the youthful vigor in his voice and the way he moved; his apparent age couldn't be anything but a deception.

They had no more need for words; the admiral seemed confident enough in his skill with a blade that he didn't summon his sphere of magic as the two of them clashed. And, she had to admit, that confidence was not wholly misplaced. Yet even so, her onslaught of blows pushed him back, the sacred shield of golden energy that wrapped around her turning back any blows that penetrated her defense in turn. Those were few, and far between...

By some unspoken consensus, the two combatants parted after an indeterminate amount of time, both winded. Yet, the advantage thusfar was obviously Alindrianna's; she had left several gashes in the admiral's armor, and blood stained his cheek from a faint cut upon it, likely not the only one. In turn, he had barely managed to nick her armor with his blows... The fact that he had managed to at all said much for his skill, when her focus was nearly precognition, though, the Blood Knight mused quietly. Her green eyes narrowed in challenge.

The other glared back at her, then sneered as the air rippled around him, his own barrier now materializing. "You thought I would just let you kill me? Stupid little elf-let's see what good your swordplay does you now." His laughter was loud and boisterous, echoing through the emptied-out cavern.

But this moment was the one she had been waiting for. The only warning she gave him was a smirk, even as her blade was shifted into a single hand, freeing the other to retrieve something small from one pocket. Beneath her breath, she chanted words...

"Speak up, girl. I wouldn't mind learning some Thalassian profanity," jeered the crusader, as he took a step forward, easily interpreting her words as merely swearing beneath her breath. Again his laugh echoed; "I think it's time I put an end to you, meddling paladin-"

Westwind never had the chance to finish, for as suddenly as it had appeared, his sphere of magical protection rippled and vanished, as though it had been pricked by a pin and then popped much as a true bubble might've. The trinket was already cast aside by the time its spell was finished, and in a single motion she clasped both hands upon her sword and drove it through his chest, piercing his heart as she sundered flesh and steel in kind.

It hardly seemed real, even as she drew back the weapon and staggered back, the force of the blow resounding in her hands, which threatened her with numbness to punish her reckless blow. But it seemed the battle was ended-the human groaned, unable to breath or speak. It seemed a miracle that he had not already collapsed, and his eyes seemed to grow more intense... With a suddenness that took the Blood Knight entirely by surprise, his body burst into flame and he roared with a ferocity that, in the echoing confines of the cave, was deafening.

"WHAT?! No matter. Even without my sphere, I will crush you! Behold my true identity and despair!" Each word seemed filled with more fury than the last as the flames turned a sickly, greenish hue and consumed the form of the human entirely. From within them emerged a far larger creature...

Its skin was somewhere between the fel green of the flames and the gray of ashes with a hint of purple somehow mixed in as well, while scraps of dull green armor decorated the massive form. Two tremendous wings, shaped as though they belonged to a bat, extended from the creature's back, while two twisting horns rose from either side of its face. Below them were thick, dark sideburns, the only hair at all that the behemoth possessed, while its legs ended in hooves, each of them nearly the size of a small gnome.

Perhaps worst of all, though, were the two green eyes that glared out of its face, their color the same glimmering fel hue as the blood elf's. There could be no mistaking the twisted form of the Dreadlord that stood before her, and yet again the monster let out a bellow, and shouted; "Kirel narak! I am Mal'Ganis. I AM ETERNAL!"

Alindrianna had fallen back two steps, her face an unreadable mask, but disdain and hatred took their place upon that flawlessly beautiful face at that declaration. Despite the numbness of her hands, she lifted her sword again, and from her back burst two blazing golden wings, woven of pure light. At her side, more holy energy coalesced into the shimmering, translucent form of a winged knight, a sword that matched hers in his hands. The guardian charged forward ahead of her, his light-forged blade clashing against the demon's claws, each of which was as large as a sword itself.

"Then our business is yet unfinished." She did not have the breath left to shout, and so the words were spoken almost softly as the Blood Knight threw herself into the battle once again, attacking with unbound fury; her hands and blade glowed powerfully with the light, and each blow was as much holy power as physical might...

This clash was far swifter, and yet somehow it felt every moment as long as the other... The two traded blows for no more than half a minute's times, and yet her body was as weary by the end of those seconds as if she had battled for all of an eternity against Mal'Ganis. But despite his boasts, despite his might and magic-the horrid magic that could tear at another's mind or the foul, corrosive mist that his wings released with a mere flap-the demon was again pushed back. At her side, the glowing guardian had dimmed, but his sword still moved in time with hers...

"ENOUGH! I waste my time here. I must gather my strength on the homeworld." The demon turned, as though to flee, but he found his body bound; another roar escaped him as he turned back, meeting the disdainful hatred of the blood elf with his own unrestrained rage.

"What is this?! You should be but a mote of dust before me!"

"You did not realize, fool? Perhaps had you pretended my blade had slain you as the human, you might have escaped, but I am not such a fool as not to know you'd try to slip away. I stood before the might of Kil'Jaeden himself-the very lord, in effect, of all your foul legion. You thought you had a chance?" She barely had the breath to laugh-despite her boast, the holy spell that bound the demon took all her might to maintain.

But, before he could break free of it, she was again surging forward as the light of her guardian shimmered once, then all seemed to rush back into her-no, instead into the ornamented greatsword in her hands. Steel seemed, for the merest of moments, to transform into a blade of pure, radiant light. For the second time, Alindrianna impaled Mal'Ganis-but this time, the demon's very life was truly torn asunder.

Then, her own light faded away and she fell, only able to even kneel through the sheer force of her own will. But this time, when she let herself fade into unconsciousness in the darkness, it was with confidence that the Scarlet Onslaught had _truly_ been extinguished...


	7. Hollow Ataraxia

VII: Hollow Ataraxia

"So, it is decided, then? Dawnsinger shall be our champion to this tournament." The words were spoken in the somewhat nasal voice of Lor'themar, Regent Lord of Quel'thalas. He sat upon the ornamented throne of the Sunstrider house, while the two figures to either side stood, facing him.

In theory, the three men were roughly equal, but in this moment there could be no doubt that it was the regent who had taken the dominant position. In a society so aware of nuance as that of the blood elves, something so slight and subtle as who sat and who stood meant an enormous amount.

"I am honored you are pleased with my nomination, my lord," answered one of the two standing figures. He was the shorter and slimmer of the two, his body garbed in a red robe that rose up into a half mask over his face. But that mask could do little to hide his pleased smile; Eressa Dawnsinger was, after all, one of his magisters. The elf in question was Rommath, Grand Magister of Silvermoon City.

His opposite number seemed far less pleased. The elf in question was the taller of the two, and his blue and silver mail contrasted with the red and gold that defined everything else about the throne room of Sunfury Spire. Upon his back was worn an intricate bow, and also a sharpened halberd, and his hair was golden, shorter than the magister's but also more voluminous. He lifted a brow, his handsome face contorted into a contemplative frown.

But, before he-the Ranger General of Quel'thalas and current leader of the Farstriders-could give his answer, there was the sound of footsteps upon the elevated walkway behind the throne. "You would be fools to sent that girl." The woman's voice had not been heard within Silvermoon in years, and it startled everyone present for a moment.

Indeed, the rows of guards nearby, armed with their ceremonial but still entirely effective warglaives, had turned at the sound of her entry, but now they fell to one knee in a strikingly synchronized show of respect. Many of them had trained with some hope of emulating the woman who had made such a sudden entrance.

"Ah, Silvermoon's prodigal daughter." It was the ranger who broke the startled silence that had fallen over the room. He seemed unimpressed, and lifted a brow in almost amusement. "I was under the impression that you were still campaigning in Northrend, Lady Alindrianna." He gave her that title almost mockingly.

The Blood Knight lifted a brow in turn, as she gazed down at him from on high. In this moment, her appearance was rather strikingly different from what it normally was. Gone entirely was her red and black armor, her half-helmet, her sword...

In their place, she had donned the crimson robes of the Magistrix that she technically was. They hung easily upon her lithe, strong body, hardened from years of war, yet still beautiful. If anything, it had made her more so; her face was sharper than before, its elegant lines almost seeming to have been accentuated by the biting northern winds. Atop her head, her blonde hair had been pinned up into a lazy but attractive bun. She stretched slightly, before speaking.

"I was indeed-I am indeed, that is to say. But for a matter of such importance, I felt it appropriate to come, and Lord Sunreaver owes me several favors by now." Her bitter laugh wasn't changed at all by the elegant, ornate robe that she now wore. One hand idly lifted a glass of deep red wine to her lips.

"Ah, yes... Trust a mage to distort even the very meaning of distance.' The ranger's comment won him a sour look from the grand magister, but that only seemed to amuse the former more. From her position, the Blood Knight couldn't see Lor'themar's face at all, but she made no move to accommodate the regent. When no one else spoke, though, the ranger general's blowing eyes lifted to her again. "Ah well. You came all this way to object to Dawnsinger being our champion? Do you have some alternative in mind?"

Again, the bitter laugh. "You need to ask, Brightwing? I will be our champion," replied the blood knight, her face unreadable as she sipped her wine. Such directness was entirely contrary to the ways of her people, and yet she seemed unperturbed by the fact that she had just spoken as such to the three most powerful men in the entire city.

"...you arrogant little-" Rommath had begun to speak angrily, but a gesture from the regent cut him off halfway, and the latter stood, his silver hair glinting in the candlelight. Annoyance was visible upon his face, which was classically the perfect image of handsomeness.

"You should show the proper respect, my lady. You have not deigned to grace us with your presence in nearly a decade, and now you come before us with not even a request, but a demand?" Part of his agitation was clearly because of the way she had forced him to stand and look up at her.

"The proper respect? I will feel obligated to show the proper respect when a king of House Sunstrider sits upon the throne of Quel'thalas." For just a moment, her apathetic facade was broken by a flash of disdainful anger. "You are not such a king, regent-I will address you as I see fit. Or perhaps you have forgotten that my absence has been for the sole purpose of furthering the esteem and respect for our people amongst the allies that you saw fit to make."

The regent was not used to being addressed as such, and that much was obvious. For a moment, magic crackled in the air, and it seemed as though he was about to vent his fury upon the insolent, unarmed blood knight who stood before him. Something in her eyes almost dared him to do it...

That was, perhaps, what stopped him. Sucking in a harsh breath, he regained his composure forcibly. "...your service has not been without note," he admitted stiffly, one hand clenched into a fist. "Tell me, then, blood knight, what is your objection to Lady Dawnsinger taking on the role of champion? Surely you realize she is similarly distinguished."

"Similarly distinguished? Do not so easily insult me. She is little but an untried girl, regent. Perhaps she is a girl with potential and breeding, but she is nothing more. I will not see our city's pride entrusted to her."

"And you think that you can do better? You call her a girl, Alindrianna, but you are barely a year her senior. Why is it that you think yourself so much more suited? If this is any indication, _you_ would embarrass us with your brashness." Despite that no weapons were drawn, and no magic filled the air between them, this moment was undeniably a battle.

"Years do not make age, not upon the field of battle. Give her the ceremonial position, if you find yourself so fearful that I will somehow insult the orcs and trolls who respect nothing more than directness-I do not care for it. But upon the field of battle, there is no one more suited than I to champion our city, our people." She drew a deep breath, a bit of emotion entering her voice.

"Or, perhaps you have forgotten the lengths that I have already gone to? Perhaps you have forgotten that my hands were first stained red with blood not for the sake of the Horde, but for the sake of our own redemption. Perhaps you have forgotten that I was a Scryer, that I fought at the Sunwell? And, all of that aside..."

She paused a moment, then laughed with a bit more actual mirth, "All of that aside, regent, you would be a fool to send a mage to a jousting tournament. She would require weeks of training, while I know full well how to battle upon a charger's back. In the eyes of the Crusade, I am a paladin-one of their own." A brow was lifted, as this speech was delivered, and she again sipped her glass of wine.

Silent reigned below her. Rage still dominated the face of the grand magister, for he had now been insulted thrice over despite that the Blood Knights and his own people had traditionally been allied. Lor'themar, on the other hand, was silent as he gazed up at her, but fury of his own lurked in his glowing green eyes. He was clearly trying to devise some rebuttal, despite that his face was an impenetrable mask.

It was Halduron, the Farstrider, who broke the silence once again. "She makes a good case for herself, my lord, I must admit." His face became a smile as he felt Rommath's gaze turn upon him and become murderous. "As she says, we are still free to send Lady Dawnsinger as our official envoy, but I, for one, would be far more comfortable knowing the pride of Quel'thalas rested with someone who had already proved herself upon the field of battle more fully."  
The regent realized, in this moment, that he had been defeated. He would look more than a fool if he joined with the outraged magister the way his heart longed to, and when even a Farstrider would voice his support for a blood knight...

"...very well. Now, all of you, go-I will have to write up the documents, and I would prefer my privacy." His bitterness showed in his voice, despite his best efforts.

Alindrianna smirked, but was gracious enough not to laugh her bitter, mocking laugh. "Of course, my lord. It has, as you say, been quite some time since I have enjoyed the comforts of Silvermoon... Lord Brightwing, perhaps you would care to demonstrate your legendary pathfinding by helping me find my way through the maze that the streets will surely be?" Her voice was almost playful, as she gazed upon the ranger.

"It would be my pleasure," he answered with a laugh, lifting a brow in turn as she strode down the ramp, past the still-kneeling guards. It seemed likely that her reputation would only grow from their stories of this moment... After all, they had just watched her talk down the man who acted as king in all but name.

It did not escape the ranger's notice that Rommath had made no move to leave, or that Lor'themar had made no move to evict him... He smirked to himself, as Alindrianna reached him and threaded her slender arm through his thicker one. Somehow, she seemed almost more dangerous in what amounted to a dress than in the armor she had worn the last time he had seen her... Soon, they were walking down the ramp that led from the Spire into the city proper.

"A Farstrider supporting me? Have things changed so much as that in the time I've been gone?" The words were half mocking, but half serious as well, as she regarded him.

"Oh, not at all. I simply saw a chance to strike down two magisters with one stone and gladly took it," replied the ranger general lightly, aware that despite her claim to having forgotten her way around, she was leading him and not the other way around. "You did manage to rather effectively destroy any chances of political success you had, so I'm rather pleased with myself."

This time, the blonde Blood Knight's laugh was genuine. "I am glad to see the city is as I remember it, then. I would not care to learn I had been fighting for a bygone ideal all of these years. As to my chances in politics... you say that as though I would ever have the slightest desire to pursue them."  
Halduron shook his head, casting his gaze out over the city. "Maybe you're wise, then, Blood Knight. Regardless, don't think I did that for your sake; it was quite the opposite."

"Of course. It was I who did you a favor, was it not? You do not wish to see us humiliated in the name of placating the Horde any more than I do." She spoke the words just as casually as any others, and yet somehow they were infinitely more pointed.

The ranger bit his lip. "...I think that I am glad you have no interest in politics, blood knight. You would be rather dangerous to cross swords with." He would not say she was right, but he had as much as said it with what he had said instead.

"At least you are not such a fool as to set one of your own up for that fall. Rommath actually thinks that what I did hurt his protege's career, no doubt... She will, of course, hate me for it." Now the laugh was bitter again.

"Amusing, yes... She will hate you for having saved her a disgrace she would never live down. I hope you're as good as you say, though."

"If hating me gives her something to work toward, then so much the better." Alindrianna didn't bother to answer the other question. By now, they had entered the shadows of Murder Row, and stopped before an unmarked door that they both knew led to an excellent but exclusive tavern. "...when the time comes for your coup d'etat, Farstrider, count my blade along with your own."

Neither spoke again after that, as they entered the tavern, each occupied with a hundred different thoughts. But her last words seemed to echo ominously-or perhaps hopefully-in the air between them...


	8. Fealty

IIX: Fealty

"Pledge your loyalty to the Master, Madam, and your life shall be spared!" The words seemed nothing if not absurd. Her loyalty had long ago been pledged to a cause, for better or for worse, and that loyalty had endured betrayals worse than any sane person could ever stand to bear. Yet this shade, this ghost of a fallen human, thought they could make such an offer?

The very notion stirred anger in her chest as she brought down her warblade, the holy power imbued in it allowing it to slice through the phantasms of the ballroom as though they were yet creatures of flesh and blood. It tore through the elegant fabric of a dancer's dress, and the woman-or the ghost of the woman-screamed as her lingering ties to the mortal world were forcibly severed.

No music could be heard, in the great, cavernous ballroom, and yet still they danced; two distinct dances were to be found within, indeed. Across the room, ghosts still danced to unheard music, their twirling motions elegant and graceful and peaceful. In sharp contrast was the dancing upon the side of the room she was in.

That dance was a desperate one-a dance of death, between the ghosts and the two elves who had intruded upon their realm. Karazhan was the realm of the dead, everything about it a shadow of some other bygone life. That life's shadows yet lingered in the form of so many ghosts haunting the halls...

Beside her, the paladin fought one foe at a time, her spear dancing skillfully. But that was not enough for Alindrianna, not when such rage had seized her; no, her weapon swung wildly, striking four and five spirits at a time, not caring if any were cleanly dispatched. Their blows rebounded uselessly from the golden shell that had formed around her-the sacred shield of holy power. The servant who had dared to speak such words was almost before her now.

Indeed, the ghostly form of the woman was so near now that their eyes met, and instantly the Blood Knight regretted that. But it was already far too late to undo such a thing... Foreign thoughts assailed her mind, expect that they were spoken in an all too familiar voice, full of contempt and mocking.

_Loyalty? What do you know of loyalty? _A laugh echoed, bitter and biting. _You know nothing of it except how to betray and abandon it. Blood Knight? You still call yourself that, when you've betrayed your precious teacher-when she cannot even stand to look at you any longer._

Rage burned more hotly in her veins, and she slashed even more wildly, every blow seeming to miss her true target and instead strike at the weaker, almost helpless ghosts that surrounded her. What had they done to earn such an attack upon them? Was Karazhan not their rightful domain?

_Rightful? What a joke that word is. Was not all of the outlands Illidan's rightful domain? When your people had nothing but ashes and a deadly addiction, he offered you aid. But your blade was amongst the first to turn against him, _mocked the voice, with disgust. _He was called the Betrayer, but he was the betrayed._

The servant barely managed to avoid a straight-on thrust of the warblade, and Alindrianna clenched her teeth, barely noticing as fire magic from one of the guests sped through the air, intent upon burning her. No, that was not true; she noticed, but only long enough to growl and rip the very magic from the air, sending a ripple of emptiness through the magic currents around her. The fireball crumbled and flickered out in a shower of harmless embers, like so much confetti.

_You betray your own ideals so easily, you who pretend that you do not thirst for magic. Doesn't it feel good, to feed the way you always have? Such a sad thing you are, pretending that you needed the Sunwell less than anyone else, or that your little fountain of Light is enough to quench your thirst. You must enjoy being a betrayer, if you choose that ideal when you know so well that you can never live up to it._

The words struck her almost as though they were a physical blow, and she staggered back. Around her, all the ghosts had fallen exceot the servant. The ghostly woman had once been beautiful, but in this moment Alindrianna could not see that. No, her vision was clouded red with hatred...

However, she had caught the attention of her ally, and the paladin looked at her now, a flicker of concern in her glowing green eyes. "Alindrianna?" The confusion in her voice was understandable; the idea that these meager spirits could seriously harm either of them was rather absurd. Yet, that concern somehow stirred more anger, even as Sarinissa spoke again; "You alright?"

Before either of them could answer, though, more ghosts noticed them, and the auburn-haired blood elf's attention was torn away. Alindrianna found that she could not move; her arms felt leaden and impossibly heavy.

_Why not just betray her, too? What's one more time, to you? You helped her to kill the prince you swore yourself to the service of, after all... You must've loved that. A chance to betray him and the Shattered Sun all at once. And so many of the Scryers who helped you do it died too; yes, you must be so terribly proud of that night..._

The laughter was almost worse than the words. The words she could answer, and so they stirred anger. But what of laughter? Laughter had no answer, not rebuttal, no clever counter. It was the bitter, mocking laughter that would drive her to insanity.

_You hate the sound of your own voice that much...? Ah, yes, of course... Most fitting of all. You betrayed yourself most of all, didn't you...? The little sin'dorei girl who set out to be the hero who would save her people... How she would hate what you've become, Blood Knight. _The laughter rang out again in her head, and she could not deny that it was her own laughter. She had recognized the voice as her own the first time she had heard it.

For a split second, she started to move toward Sarinissa's back, blade in hand as her mind was consumed by the raging red of her anger... But she would not go that far. She would _never_ go that far! With a sudden clarity of purpose, her anger coalesced; the scream that followed echoed through all of the ballroom as a sphere of light exploded outward from her body, golden and translucent but gleaming with as blinding brightness.

The light of such a divine shield split the ghost's spell asunder in barely a second's time, banishing the thoughts that were not her own from her mind. The anger was anything but gone, though; seconds later, the ghost who had sought to twist her will was nothing but scattered, shattered bit of arcane energy... Not even that was enough to quell the anger, though.

No, it was not until the entire room lay dead-truly dead-that she could stop. Her body burned from the exertion, and her breathing was ragged, more from the frenzied nature of her attack than from true exertion. She and Sarinissa stood opposite each other, in the wake of the battle, but it was the other who approached her. Now concern was more apparent.

"...what happened to you, back there?" This time, wariness was mixed with confusion and concern as two pairs of green eyes met. Alindrianna's seemed somehow dim, in this moment, though.

"One of them meant to invade my mind. I made her regret the foolishness of doubting my loyalty... My will is my own." The words were spoken with conviction and without hesitation.

_Liar_. The voice was not gone, but that was... no true surprise. The voice would never truly be gone. _You've never had your own will... A petty pawn, dragged along by tides of fate that you cannot even begin to control._ But then, she had never pretended the words were anything but her own...

"...ouch. Do you want to take a rest? It looks like that was pretty rough on you." Sarinissa seemed uncomfortable; it was hard to tell if that was at the thought that the Blood Knight had almost been turned against her, or simply that she did not know what to say to that or think of it.

No, that never would've happened to her. The spell wouldn't have had any hold on the other blood elf, Alindrianna knew, and there was a touch of bitterness-of jealousy-in that thought.

"No," she lied, through heavy breaths, "Let's press on. The sooner we find out what's going on here the better. I cannot imagine there is anything within these walls that we cannot dispatch easily enough." The rest of the words were almost true.

Almost because she found that some part of her was not so eager to leave as her words would suggest. Even in the wake of what had just happened-of the anger that was not at all gone, only repressed until it found a better target-she found that she had a certain... fondness for the ancient tower. Something about its grandeur spoke to a deep part of her soul...

Maybe, she mused fancifully, she would return here when there were no more battles for her to fight. The comforts of Silvermoon had already proved empty for her, and there could only be so many more battles left to fight. If she was left bereft of those, then perhaps a place such as this was the only one that could suit her...

Her thoughts were disturbed by the other's reply, though. "Alright... Just say if you want to stop, though." Sarnissa was clearly unconvinced that the other was ready to go on, and perhaps she was right. But the Blood Knight would not admit to such a thing, and so she summoned her strength and ignored the burning of her muscles that protested the moment. They set off again, exploring deeper into the heart of Karazhan.


	9. Redemption

IX: Redemption

Above, shapes that seemed cut out of ruby and sapphire flickered back and forth across the sky, their movement almost too fast for the untrained eye to follow. Indeed. If one had simply... cast one's gaze unknowingly upon the sky above Coldarra, they might've imagined that they were merely watching some harmless, beautiful dance.

She knew better. It was still beautiful, and in a sense it was still a dance, but the clash of red and blue dragons in the sky was anything but harmless. Bolts of untamed arcane power and bursts of flame so hot that they seared the very air they traversed filled the space between the wheeling forms that her well-trained green eyes could make out as dragons.

Much of her longed to be up there, in that sky with the others. Her heart seemed to rebel in her chest at the fact that she sat upon the ground, powerless as such a battle was fought above them. Already, there had been too many sacrifices in this war-this Nexus War, which had caught her and so many others up in its clutches, despite that almost all of them had come to the frozen northern continent to instead take up the battle against the Lich King-for her to ever be satisfied with just... watching.

But what could she even do? The Warmages of the Kirin Tor rode into battle astride red drakes at times, but they could do battle that way, unleashing volleys of arcane missiles or burst of fire or storms of ice from a dragon's back. But in the sky, she... was as good as useless. For all her mastery of the light's power, she could do little without some weapon in her hands and an enemy she could strike...

The thought stirred anger in her chest, and her gauntlet-covered hands clenched tightly to the handle of her warblade, unsheathed and in her hands despite that there was no opponent for her to face. Even if that opponent was a dragon, if it were to appear before her, at least she could _fight!_ If there was anything in the world that the Blood Knight truly found intolerable, it was to be without the ability to do anything.

Indeed, she mused, she would never have been able to survive this world if she had ever before been this powerless. It would've driven her to insanity, with its repeated blows as though she were some... steel being shaped upon the anvil of some cruel god. But then, if she were that, what had she been shaped into? In the face of the Sunwell's failure, she had been one of the first to take up the banner of the Blood Knights. She had learned how to control the light-how to consume its power instead of the arcane magic her people so hungered for...

That crisis alone would've broken her, had she not had that. Even now, it was entirely too easy to look into the snow in which she sat and see not her own harsh, proud reflection, but the sallow, twisted face of one of the Wretched. That vision still haunted her dreams-the hunger of that addiction never truly died. But despite that... she had overcome it.

Indeed, perhaps she had overcome it too well. Of those first few Blood Knights, she had been by far the most successful, and quickly taken under the wing of their matriarch. It was that position, as Liadrin's apprentice, that had won her the post as one of Kael'thas's advisers-as the commander for all of those of her order that had accompanied him to the Outlands...

Her thoughts were spiraling downward; it was a sequence of memories that she recalled all too well, and yet even now she was helpless against them, a swirling vortex of misery that had already trapped her. It would not release her until her thoughts had taken their full course... Or, so it had always been. This time, something else interrupted, and she tensed instantly; by now, she knew well the sound of dragon's wings, and a flash of blue in the snow caught her eyes.

Instantly, the blonde blood elf was on her feet, weapon at the ready as she looked up at the form of the blue drake that towered over her, its wings sending up miniature blizzards as it lowered toward her. Alindrianna cursed under her breath, first in Thalassian, then in Darnassian, and finally in a few choice words of Draenei that her time in Shattrath had taught her; she cursed mainly her own stupidity, for in her red and black armor she surely stood out against the snow like a bloodstain, and she was well away from the sanctuary offered by the Transitus Shield.

Despite her desire for something to battle against, fighting a blue dragon head on was... not a particularly inviting thought. She was surprised, indeed, that the azure form above her, scales sparkling with an ironic beauty in the dim northern sunlight, had not simply destroyed her as she sat in the snow, entirely unprepared for such an attack.

Her eyes narrowed, as she held her blade; the dragon descended, but it had yet to attack her, and now it had been long enough that she knew it was not merely her imagination together with wishful thinking. But why? The fact that the armored blue-from this distance, it was clearly larger than a drake, but still small for a fully-grown dragon-had not yet sought to kill her by the time its massive, clawed limbs touched the ground did nothing to make her lower her warblade...

Then, there was a blinding flash of light; reflected off the snow around them, it erased the blood knight's vision for nearly half a minute, and she staggered backward, her weapon blindly held at guard still... When the whiteness that had clouded her sight finally retreated, there was no longer a dragon standing opposite her.

No, instead there was a distinctly beautiful high elven woman, her hair white as the snow around them, and her slim body wrapped in heavy white furs. It was her face more than even her silver-blue eyes that marked her as quel'dorei rather than sin'dorei, however, at least to Alindrianna. Her face did not have quite the sharp, classical beauty that the Blood Knight's own did-or once had, before scorn and disdain and darkness had made it cold and bitter-but it was not that. Rather, it was that her face still retained a certain softness. No lines of care or hatred had been cut into it, nor had despair or depression ravaged it... To Alindrianna, that was the true mark of a high elf.

Of course, this was not a true high elf, she knew. No, the woman before her was clearly a dragon's humanoid form, and that reminder made her wary-she advanced threateningly. "What do you desire of me, dragon?"

The voice that answered had a softness to it that matched the other's face well, and with that softness one had to almost strain to hear it over the roar of the chill, biting wind. "Stay your blade, daughter of the sin'dorei. I have not come to bring harm to you-it is only words that I seek with you."  
"There is little I have to say to you, then. We are enemies now, though through your choosing and not my own," replied the blood elf, not without harshness in her voice. She did lower her blade, however, although she did not sheath it.

The sharp words brought a bit of a wince to the other's kinder face. "...yes, I know that well. And out of those who have become our foes, you are perhaps one of the fiercest. It was you who dared venture into the very Nexus, was it not?"

Alindrianna's face tightened, guardedly. "Yes, though you surely know that I was not alone in that."

"Yes, daughter of the sin'dorei-that much I know. But I am not so fortunate to come upon both you and the paladin who ventured there alongside you. My time here is short," answered the other quietly.

The Blood Knight involuntarily too a step forward, straining to hear the soft words, and her eyes narrowed further. "You still have not told me why you have come, dragon."

These words, again sharp, brought an unhappy sigh from the other. "My name is Arianadragosa-you need not speak my race as though it were some insult. But I have come... to thank you, for what you have done. For... giving Keristraza her freedom."

At the mention of the fallen red dragon's name, unmitigated anger exploded onto the blood elf's face, and the distance between the two of them was closed almost instantly. Despite that she was the shorter of the two, she seemed to tower over the dragon-Arianadragosa, as she had said-in this sudden burst of fury. "So you have come here to salt the wound that Malygos already made so deep?! You can tell him that he will die a thousand deaths for what he did to her!"

The other drew back a half step, her unhappiness becoming deeper and more entirely apparent. She almost seemed to be... wilting, under the verbal barrage, but she drew in a deep breath, seeming to gather her courage. "...you mistake my words. I have not come to speak for my Aspect. The... the thanks that I give you is... nothing if not genuine. Even if death is a bitter freedom, it is better than... that."

This response seemed to give Alindrianna pause, and a heavy silence descended for several long seconds. Then, the dragon was speaking again. "...I knew her, back before all of this insanity. She was... as a sister to me, in a gentler, kinder age. I could not bear to see her suffer so terribly..."

Alindrianna's calm shattered as she heard these words, and suddenly her face was alight with rage once again. "...you could have saved her," she growled, her voice somehow... far more menacing when it was low. Now it was filled with something akin to hatred, instead of mere anger.

"You say that you cared for her, but _you_ could have freed her and you left her to that. You have no right to thank me for anything, when you clearly did not care enough to do even as much as that." Yes, hatred was a good word for what filled her voice, but... anguish could be used just as easily. The Blood Knight started to turn away in disgust.

Bitterness filled the dragon's voice now. "...and you say that as if it were all so simple as that. Malygos is my Aspect, daughter of the sin'dorei! You cannot begin to understand what it would mean to betray him!"

The Blood Knight froze at this, and Ariana sucked in a harsh breath, instinctively stepping back in something akin to fright. However, that hatred was not turned upon her anew. No, though the blood elf's glowing green gaze was turned back to the blue dragon, she did not fully turn. Her voice was... disturbingly hollow, when she spoke.

"When the Sunwell was stolen from us, it was as though the very light had been drained from the sky. The very Sun seemed gone, along with the font of magic that bore its name, and light nearly vanished from our world. Only one ray of it remained to us, and that ray had a name; it was Kael'thas, the Sun King."

A moment of silence followed, but when she saw that the other yet listened, she continued, her voice betraying no more emotion than it had before. No, it seemed somehow... deadened. "We would've followed him to the very ends of Azeroth. Some of us did-to the end of the world, and to another world beyond it. I was one of those who accompanied him to Outlands."

Again, silence reigned for a moment, even the howling wind seeming to respect it, but once again the words picked up. "On that shattered world, I watched that single ray of light fade into the darkness-but he did not simply fade away into nothingness. No-no! That alone would've been too small a tragedy for us, to lose our only light. Fate was not so kind to us as that; it was not enough that he should be lost to us! Instead, before my eyes he betrayed us all."

Now the deadness had been broken, and instead sorrow and anger and fury and unyielding anguish poured forth. "I watched him not only walk the path to ruin, but lead my people upon it. And they followed him down that path. Already we had been decimated-destroyed, almost. So few of us yet lived, and yet I knew what my duty was, dragon. _Selama ashala'nore._"

The final words were spoken with what could only be called the most bitter sort of irony. She echoed the Thalassian words again, in common. "Justice for our people. Perhaps I do not know what that betrayal means." Bitter laughter echoed on the wind, and Alindrianna looked away. "Farewell, Arianadragosa."

This time, silenced by the flurry of words that had been cast at her, the dragon said nothing to stop the Blood Knight. She watched with an expression that almost seemed broken as the other dwindled in the distance, slowly becoming little more than a black speck against the Coldarra snow.

But, before the blood elf had disappeared altogether, the dragon clenched her fist and transformed with startling suddenness. Her azure wings spread and swiftly caught the wind; she easily took flight. Once she had ascended into the sky, her speed was such that it took only the barest of moments to catch up to the Blood Knight.

Despite that the landing of even a small dragon shook the ground beneath her, and the way that the blue's wingbeats nearly covered her in several layers of snow, Alindrianna refused to react beyond lifting one hand to keep the snow from obscuring her vision too entirely. Somehow, the lines of her face seemed even more bitter now.

"Wait!" The voice that was conveyed from the dragon by magic was the same one that she had spoken with in her elven form, except far louder. Despite that there was a rather striking determination in it now, the Blood Knight ignored the word.

"...you are right that I could have saved her. I should have saved her. I... was afraid. If I failed, then her fate would be my own too," said the dragon, refusing to be so easily brushed off. Alindrianna slowed, but...

"...it does not matter now. No amount of regret will restore her life," she responded, bitterly.

The blue flinched back-a remarkable feat, in her fully draconic form-at the bluntness of that, but then she nodded. "You are... right in that as well. But I cannot live this way any longer. I have seen the way that your eyes look to the skies, daughter of Quel'thas. Come-I will carry you to battle. Perhaps... I still might hope there is redemption to be had, for me."

Although she did not reply, the Blood Knight found herself wordlessly climbing onto the dragon's back. Perhaps, she had to admit, the two of them were kindred spirits. Together they rose skyward, toward the clash of dragons high above...

Author's Note: I'd like to give a heartfelt thanks to the kind review left by an anonymous guest recently. I'm very glad that you enjoyed the story so much as that. And I would like to ask that, if you're reading this, please tell me what you think. Even if it's just a line or two, or to tell me that you didn't like it, I would like to know. It can get hard to remain inspired to write without feedback.


	10. The Path of Blood

Bad End: The Path of Blood

Author's Note: This piece is non-canonical to the rest of the story, but only insomuch as that Alindrianna does not canonically react the way that she does in this vignette. And I shamelessly admit that the inspiration to write this came out of my desire to see a certain character in _Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War _die. As such, it contains some spoilers for that novel, which I highly suggest to anyone who enjoys World of Warcraft fiction.

A cloaked figure moved through the deserted streets of the orc city. Anymore, few dared to brave the shadows of Ogrimmar's nights, for fear of the increasing liberties taken by their warchief's personal guards. The figure in question, though, was making no effort to conceal its presence, despite the tattered brown cloak that concealed its features. Only size offered any clue at all, and admittedly that was a significant one; it could only be an undead or blood elf, for it was too tall to be a goblin, too small to be an orc or tauren, and too short to be a troll.

Despite that those two races had become increasingly scarce in the horde capital, the figure did not hesitate, moving purposefully along them, almost as though hoping to be noticed by the ever-increasing patrols of kor'kron. But that idea was absurd; no one would willingly be caught by the brutish personal guaard of the warchief, not when anything at all seemed to be enough grounds for arrest or even execution.

And yet, when a patrol came into sight, the cloaked figure made no move to conceal itself. Anyone with any hint of sense would've fled from sight, particularly when it became apparent that a large, blackish-gray orc armed with twin axes led this particular patrol. Above the rest of the kor'kron, Malkorok was known for his cruelty by now-and his unrelenting persecution of anyone found to be guilty of the remotest treason, such as speaking the name of Garrosh Hellscream as though it were anything less than the most sacred of divine utterances.

"You there! Halt! What business have you?" The barking, cruel voice of the blackrock orc in question shattered the near-silence of the night, his voice echoing off the steel walls of the buildings that surrounded them.

The figure froze at the words, as Malkorok's massive form diverted the two guards from their course and toward it. That stillness lasted only a fraction of a second, though; then, without so much as a word to distinguish gender or race, the unknown interloper was bolting away.

It moved with a swiftness that was hard to match, and yet not quite enough to lose the orcs trailing it. Indeed, all three of them had instantly burst into pursuit, not bothering to call for backup or assistance. No, they had come to imagine themselves too much masters of the darkness for one single enemy to possible be a threat, much less one that fled from them...

Their prey clearly knew Orgimmar well, however. Each time they seemed to be upon the unknown offender, they wound round the corner to yet again see just the briefest flicker of brown cloth as it escaped through some little-known byway of the city. Indeed, with its construction yet unfinished, such a chase was much like navigating and endless labyrinth. Against a foe so knowledgeable, there could be no hope of entrapment until it made a mistake. But such a mistake would have to come...

And, indeed, it came. At last, they emerged into the crisp night air atop one if the great metal bridged that spanned the city. There was very much no exit at the other end-this was one place that the orcs knew well, for the chase had led them to the very grounds upon which both the twin kor'kron guards had spent hours upon hours training themselves in the art of combat.

But, impossibly, they emerged into the moonlight alone. The tower itself just as surely had no second exit, but the figure that they had chased here was gone. Malkorok growled, entirely unused to being outmanuvered. "...one of you, guard the door. That little fool has to be up here somewhere! We'll find him and plant his head on a pike!"

The other orcs seemed a touch more... uncertain, but even so, one of them was nodding. The other joined the blackrock in searching the various training equipment, which admittedly offered a myriad of places that one could hide. For efficiency, the two of them split up...

Malkorok was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of results. He had been given free reign by his warchief and that along with his considerable strength and skill with his weapons meant that he was rarely refused anything, and so he was very much accustomed to swift-if not immediate-results.

He had begun to growl under his breath when a shrill but very much orcish cry of fear echoed through the darkness from behind him. Instantly, he was straightening and spinning, his twin battles axes drawn and raised menacingly. It was, however, only barely fast enough to see a flash of ornate armor. The sickening crunch that followed and the fact that he was now alone on the bridge confirmed that it had been the other guard he had seen tumbling from the massive structure.

For just a moment, an emotion he had thought himself entirely rid of ran through him-in that brief moment, Malkorok felt a flash of fear. It was, however, quickly pushed aside as he glanced toward the door. "Look alive, you fool!"

The words fell upon deaf ears, however-or, more accurately, dead ears. The orc who had stood guard there lay sprawled out on the cold steel, a deep wound in his back still seeking to drain away all of his blood.

"Coward! Come out and face me!" Anger had replaced that momentary flicker of fear. Suddenly, the blackrock orc regretted ever letting his eyes acclimate to sunshine; there had been a time when no one ever could've eluded him in such thin darkness as this, which was positively bright compared to Blackrock Mountain.

"You dare to speak of cowardice, you who stalk the night? You who would bring two others with you to chase down someone half your size, who did nothing to threaten you?" The voice was cold and disdainful, but it seemed to come from empty air.

A moment later, however, there was a flash of movement; then, from the shadows, a form in black armor materialized. From the way that the blood elf appeared out of nothing, it was clear that she had been concealed by some potion or magic, but now she stood bereft of any such thing. That was not to say that she was bereft of magic, though.

No, her black and red armor glowed with a certain inner golden light, a telltale sign of the holy power that reinforced it. In contrast, the sword in her hands was lit by silver-blue light, primarily shining from the runes engraves upon the sign. A former servant of Nefarian, the orc immediately recognized draconic, though he could not comprehend the dragons' tongue. The sword itself was long, its blade silver and slightly curved, while the handguard was shaped into a dragon's claw and the hilt tipped with a sapphire gem.

Malkorok tore his hateful eyes from the sword and sneered at its owner. "You'll pay for that, bitch. All that pretty armor won't save you, and when I'm done with you-"

Despite the anger in his voice, he found himself cut off as the other spoke again, her voice cold as ice. "Not that I care about that. You and both those kor'kron fools would hardly constitute a challenge together. But I lured you here for a very particular reason, orc. The girl you killed..."

Malkorok snorted with cruel laughter, "You'll have to be more specific than that. You think I remember every wench I've had to kill? I'm sure I'll remember you, though-I'll make you scream for every word you say." His axes gleamed in the moonlight as he advanced.

Despite that the Blood Knight fell naturally into a crouch, her blade at the ready, she continued to speak as though the orc had said nothing. "You did not so much as have the nerve to do it with your own hands, did you? Once, she was nearly my apprentice. I watched her grow, despite everything that the world threw at our people, orc. You think you know of suffering, but you orcs have suffered nothing that you did not call down upon your own heads. And this is no different. No, I lured you here because I have no desire for a challenge. This is your execution."

The words were still as chill and biting as the winds of Northrend, but her actions betrayed an anger far hotter than that as she launched into a swift series of attacks, each of barely deflected despite that the orc carried two weapons to her one.

Indeed, under the flurry of blows she unleashed, Malkorok did not have the time to launch a counterattack, much less respond to her words. He was forced to retreat, until with a roar of rage, he was leaping backward to give himself distance, feeling another uncomfortable twinge of that long-forgotten emotion; this time, it was stronger.

But, if anything, that fueled his own berserker rage as he rejoined the battle with renewed vigor. Orcs were, after all, known for their bloodlust, and his twin axes had oft proved nigh-unstoppable upon the field of battle. Now it was the blood elf who was on the defensive.

For her part, Alindrianna had allowed herself to fall into the calm of battle after that initial driving assault. She had no doubt that, fueled by her anger, she could do far more damage to this orc than he could to her. However, a clear sense of purpose filled her mind. It was as she had said.

She had not come to fight this orc who had murdered one of the few of Silvermoon's youth who had shown promise and ability and willingness to adapt to the new world. No, it was as she had said-she had come to execute him. And so, instead of simply winning, she intended to win flawlessly. No matter how hard he fought, the Blood Knight would not allow him to land so much as a single blow.

That, however, was far more easily said than done. Despite her hatred of the foul monster, she had to admit he had a fair bit of skill. Even with the near-precognition that her mastery of the light gave her, his blows were quick, and knowing which way they would come from only helped so much-it was never easy to match two blades against one in a contest like this, when she had to wield the larger, heavier weapon with twice as much finesse.

But the image of Kelantir Bloodblade, preserved in her mind perfectly as a portrait of youth, gave her strength. The Blood Knight knew instinctively that she could not have performed to such near-perfection for herself. No, for herself she would've ended the battle by now. Her armor would have new dents, despite that it had not been worn in nearly three years-not since she had chosen to pledge herself to the Argent Crusade-and perhaps her body would have new wounds for the light to mend into new scars, but she would already stand over the foul orc's corpse.

With that perfectly preserved image, however, she was not even beginning to tire. Malkorok's strength would fail long before hers would, and from the desperation that had started to infuse his frenzied blows, he was as aware of that as she was. She did not falter-he could throw himself at her until he died of exhaustion, and still she would not allow him to land a blow...

Their battle raged back and forth, across the top of the bridge. They were evenly matched in speed, while the blackrock orc was slightly stronger, and Alindrianna was far more agile. She had always considered her smaller stature an advantage against larger foes, who often were thrown off by it alone.

Kelantir. Her oldest memory of the girl was from just before they had journeyed to Outlands. Liadrin had seen potential in the girl, despite that she had been one of the freshest adepts, and so assigned her as a squire to the most promising of the new Blood Knights. That, of course, had been Alindrianna-who was soon after appointed Knight-General over all of Kael'thas's expedition. Together, they had gone to Outlands; together, they had faced Kael'thas's betrayal.

Alindrianna's hands tightened around the hilt of her blade, Quel'delar. When she had joined with Voren'thal under the Scryer banner, her young squire had been one of the first to join her in Shattrath. Unlike so many, she had seen what needed to be done in those dark days, despite that it went against every tradition and every instinct.

Without consciously realizing it, she had shifted from defense to attack. Already, the orc's axes were chipped from the clash, while her own draconic blade remained undimmed. If anything, its blue-silver runes glowed more brightly, feeding on its mistress's fury in a very literal sense. Her own hands had reforged the broken blade; it was no exaggeration to say that it contained a fragment of her own tortured soul.

The two of them had parted when Alindrianna had realized she could find no comfort in Silvermoon, nor in all the rest of Quel'thas. She and her mentor had clashed-indeed, though few knew it, they had come to blows... The path of blood that she had walked had changed her, knew the Blood Knight, even then. And while the girl who had been her squire-the girl who would've become her apprentice-had wanted to follow... that was not a fate she was willing to share with another.

Malkorok's attacks had not slowed or lessened. If anything, the way his blows rained upon the blonde Blood Knight, who wore nothing but a mouthguard to protect her disdainful, smooth face, had intensified, but still she was pushing him back. The sound of his blows was becoming unnatural, and Alindrianna was aware on some level, skilled in the forging of weapons, that one or both of the axes was about to truly shatter.

She barely cared, her thoughts unable to leave the track they had started upon. No, she had met the girl who would've been her apprentice one final time... When the Quel'delar's battered hilt had been discovered deep within the Halls of Reflection, the Blood Knight had taken the draconic blade to the Sunwell to purify it of the Scourge taint...

It hadn't been hard to expect that she would see Liadrin there. She had not expected to find Kelantir at the right hand of her old teacher, like some reflection of her younger self. The girl could've been that; they shared the same golden hair, and the other had the sort of beauty that Alindrianna might've possessed, had hatred and disdain and bitterness not etched themselves so unforgiving into her already-sharp features. Equally unexpected had been that she had not, in that moment, felt any jealousy of the girl. No, there had only been pride.

And now, all of that was gone in a flash of fire and smoke. Such potential, erased in a single moment because of this vile orc... Hatred filled her, giving her strength anew. The next blow from Quel'delar cleanly shattered one of Malkorok's axes, and the orc stumbled back. The Blood Knight did not relent.

No, her blade glowed and was driven forward furiously; the other obviously expected his armor to take the blow, but the draconic blade pierced it as though it were merely paper. Blood gushed forth from the wound, but the blade that had made it refused to be stained; the orc stared up with unbelieving eyes, then doubled over in pain as the blood elf kicked his unbroken axe well out of reach.

She could still remember all too well when the ranger general had sent word of what had happened. Seeing Halduron's elegant script written without a single taunt or teasing word had made her aware that the letter was something she would not like, but nothing could prepare her for the rush of pain that had come; it had felt, then, as though she were the one whose stomach had been cut upon.

_Alindrianna,_

_I wish that it was a happier occasion that made me take pen in hand to write to you, but I fear it cannot be. I am well acquainted with your views of Garrosh Hellscream, and his vision of the Horde-and you know well that I, and most of those who serve under my command, share them. I only wish that it had been you or I there instead. Either of us would've had the fortitude to suffer his rage, but I fear it was not. It is with the greatest sorrow that I bring word to you of the death of Kenantir Bloodblade; her death came not through any battle, but through the treachery of the orcs. _

There had, of course, been more. But none of that mattered; she had found, upon receiving it, that her work in the Crusade could no longer offer her any comfort. No, the Crusade was paralyzed with fear after the Horde had proved it was far from above the cold-blooded murder of the leader of a neutral organization that had dared to involve itself in the war. What happened at Theramore had left a scar upon more than the land where the proud city once stood...

She had gone to Vol'jin. The troll was clearly unhappy, and yet... the debt that he owed her, for her assistance in the battles for Zul'Aman and Zul'Gurub loomed heavily between them. With reluctance-reluctance, she suspected, borne more out of fear for what would happen to her than any sort of approval of the state of things-he had told her who had almost surely carried out that crime. The foul assassination had barely stopped short of catching the troll and his tauren counterpart in its blast... _Dat city, it scares me more dan da' blackest of voodoo now..._

"...I could make you suffer, orc." Now, there was nothing cold about her voice; now it seethed with hatred, as she placed her heavy boot upon the fallen Malkorok's back and dug in, earning a grunt from the dying orc. "I _should_ make you suffer. But I am better than that."

Remorselessly, the Quel'delar severed his foul head from his shoulders, and Malkorok knew no more. Alindrianna straightened; in the morning, Garrosh's soldiers would find what she had done. They would find it, and her message would be clear; once again, a power-crazed leader sought to lead her people upon the path to ruin. Once more, in response, the last of the Blood Knights would walk the path of blood...


End file.
